


The Arrangement

by monochromerb, RebrandedBard



Series: The Arrangement [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Biting, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bounty Hunter Geralt, Canon-Typical Violence, Communication, Dirty Talk, EDIT 2: Electric Boogaloo: full beta, EDIT: beta through chapter 4, Fake Amnesia, Fluff and Angst, Geralt without the emotional constipation of becoming a witcher, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, IDENTITY SHENANIGANS, Jaskier's a duke instead of a viscount, M/M, Marking, Mistaken Identity, Murder, Nobility, On the Run, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Rape/Non-con, Praise Kink, Rough Sex, They're both Verse, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, blindfolding, but he was an asshole so it's all good, love at first fuck, no beta we die like men and get our shit wrecked in the comments, possessive kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 10:55:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 143,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25968490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monochromerb/pseuds/monochromerb, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebrandedBard/pseuds/RebrandedBard
Summary: Lyria and Rivia were either at war with each other or conjoined by personal union. In order to establish a strong new era of trade, a marriage was arranged between Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegard, Earl of Eskalott, merchant of Rivia, and Julian Alfred Pankratz, Duke of Lettenhove, pride of Lyria. But one night before the ceremony, Geralt runs from home, unwilling to marry a stranger and be forced into a strange new country after the loss of his own family at sea. For three long years, he's escaped capture, hunted like a dog across the Continent. When he's finally found a quiet place to settle down in Novigrad, he happens upon a bard one night who turns his unsteady world on its heels, and at last he believes he's safe to love freely. But the pack is closing in, and destiny might at last claw him back to his duty and bring him within the reach of the duke and away from his beloved Jaskier. And to make matters worse, the scourge of nobility, Drache Dagger has it out for the bard.tldr; Geralt and Jaskier are nobility, arranged to be married, but have never met. Geralt runs away from the union and they meet each other unknowingly in Novigrad and fall in love. Shenanigans and drama ensue.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Arrangement [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1966333
Comments: 24
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

The bar was mostly empty that night, just the regulars and a few stragglers from the early crowd as it got late. Jaskier made his way to the little stage and sat on the edge with his lute, playing a gentle melody and singing an even gentler song to the sleepy bar, with little reaction from the crowd.

Geralt's ears perked up at the sound of the music. The low murmur of the crowd had been blocked out for the better part of an hour as he sat in his corner, nursing his drink. He preferred to stay with his head low, out of the way, of as little consequence to anyone as he could be. This new noise, however, broke through the monotonous buzz of the few remaining patrons. He looked up.

A bard was perched nearby, playing. It had been awhile since entertainment had been through of any merit. He set down his drink to listen.

Jaskier sang a ballad that felt like spring. Gentle flowers made of poetry, and music laced together in his lute strings white he sung. It was a ballad about lost love but it seemed almost as if it combined the disappointment with the relief of freedom.

Geralt closed his eyes as the song progressed. It wasn't the kind of message he could sympathize with, but the singer was in earnest. He made the listener _feel_ as though they might understand. He understood freedom, but he'd never had a love to lose. Once, he might not have had the choice to go out and find one.

When the song was finished, Geralt opened his eyes. In a moment, he had his purse at the ready. He'd just finished a job, he'd had a drink, and he was in a generous mood. So he flicked a coin in the bard's direction with a nod.

The coin landed at Jaskier’s side, and he picked it up before looking over at Geralt. He shot him a little smile before returning to his set. He played for about half an hour before retreating to the bar to get a drink as the sun started to rise outside.

Perhaps it was the infatuating smile. Perhaps it was the odd hour of morning. Regardless of what it was, Geralt was curious, and something compelled him to pick up his drink and approach the bar. When he sat in the empty seat beside the bard, the earliest red rays of sun shone through the windows, bathing him in rosy light, and if Geralt hadn't had the question already prepared, he might have just as easily asked for a drink and bailed without speaking.

"Wouldn't it be better to play for the dinner crowd?" he asked. "More people, better coin. Why are you performing so late?"

The bartender slid a drink over to Jaskier, and the bard ran his fingers along the rim of the glass as he listened to Geralt’s question. He took him in, broad shoulders, silver hair, catlike eyes, uniquely beautiful really. Jaskier chuckled softly at the question before he answered. “Well, my dear, I prefer to play this late because I find I meet better people, and I don’t need the coin,” he said lazily before taking a sip from his glass. “Why are you here so late?”

"Work makes me something of a night-owl," Geralt replied. His wasn’t the kind of work one could do out in broad daylight much of the time. Having been chased in part for the last few years, he understood that a marked man moved most freely under the cover of night, and his experience on the run had made quite the education for him. Because of it, he’d become a bounty hunter of an unusual breed. He knew the dark well, and he scented out his quarry while they slept with the illusion of safety. Every captured target taught him something new—taught him what to avoid if he wanted to stay free. He, too, had a target on his back, though one of a very different kind.

"Met anyone interesting tonight?" he asked, leaning over his ale.

“Hopefully,” he teased as he turned to fully face him. Truth be told he had retired to the city to get away from his family. His fiancé had run out on him a few weeks before they were supposed to meet, and well, his parents hadn’t left him alone since. It went unsaid but they seemed to believe he was the cause, as if his fiancé didn’t want to marry him specifically, which seemed to be bullshit. So he went to Novigrad under the guise of bettering himself, and instead decided to do something with his talents. “Tell me about yourself and we’ll see?”

Hmm, cheeky thing. Geralt cracked the barest smile. “It’s always difficult to decide what’s most interesting about oneself. You could be the kind of person that finds insects fascinating, or the semantic difference between clay and sand roads, whereas I might prefer to talk about horse maintenance or the proper way to lasso a running man’s legs.” He could tell him several different ways, in fact. At the moment, he was more interested in being imposing than interesting. Best to know the man’s limits before engaging him in any true conversation, as his topics were, generally speaking, very limited to a handful of subjects. He knew nothing about music, though he liked it, and he wondered just what the bard hoped from him. It was prickly, and he’d initiated it, but that was his way. “What do you want to know?”

A faint blush dusted Jaskier’s cheeks while Geralt spoke. Truth be told that rolling thunder voice had caught his interest more than his looks, and the things Geralt seemed to be interested in should have been off-putting, but Jaskier was never one to shy from any sort of trouble. “Well, anything you’re willing to tell me,” he purred, before taking a sip of his drink. “Let’s start with what you do for a living?”

Good then; he was interested. Then this would be fun, Geralt thought. “You’ve had your first two hints. Let’s see if you can make a guess, bard. I can afford to care for a horse, I’m in the business of lassoing runners … what might that mean when put together?”

He grinned. It had been a long time since he’d taken the time to entertain company, and there was a modicum of pent-up flirtation he’d kept tucked away. “Unless you need a third?” he asked, adjusting the strap over his shoulder, making his two swords clink at the guard.

Jaskier scrunched up his nose while he thought through his options before speaking up again. “Clearly you aren’t a knight, and I doubt you work for the city in any capacity so you’re either an assassin or a bounty hunter. Either way, it looks like you know how to kill with more than just your smile," he purred. The man had had his attention since he walked in, and truly, Jaskier was in the business of having a good time whenever possible, and it seemed like his companion wasn’t opposed either.

Oh. More interested than he’d originally thought. Geralt cleared his throat and borrowed a moment from behind his mug. Honestly, more forward than he’d been expecting, and that playful tone caught him off-guard. A quick sip, and he was composed again. “Very good,” he said. “Bounty hunter, mostly. I take them in alive wherever possible.”

The swords were half for show. When combined with his imposing size, he often had the advantage of a moment’s hesitation from his target to take the first move. Fortunate genetics made his job much easier. That is, if his target had the luck of spotting him before he sprung. He preferred to catch them unaware to minimize a struggle, and therefore any chance of injury. He could only hope he’d be so lucky if his hunters ever caught up with him. It was an ironic job in many ways.

Geralt set his drink aside and leaned casually on his hand. “What about you?” he asked. “Is busking your main profession, or are you more interesting than the surface tells?” Geralt had a feeling he was. You come to see it in people, in time.

“Truth be told it is my only profession.” Jaskier played with a strand of his hair while he spoke. “Currently I’m following a passion until I’m needed by my family again. Music is far more interesting than politics.” He was the heir to his family’s lands, but he wasn’t going to have to manage them so he didn’t much care for the work. He cared for the people of Lettenhove of course, but the paperwork was horribly dull.

“Politics. So there is more.” He smiled, something more earnest than before. “I’ve known politics; never cared much for them myself either. They get in the way of so many things. Passions. I never had the opportunity when I was younger to go looking for a passion. I haven’t found one yet, but I don’t intend to do the noble thing and go back any time soon.”

“I don’t blame you, I wish I could leave it behind, but my family doesn’t have another,” he said with a little sigh. “I don’t mind the indulgences that accompany a title though, even if it is vain to admit it,” he said with a chuckle.

“I can’t fault you for a little indulgence; it’s the only comfort that comes with the job. My family doesn’t have another, man or woman, so my running off is more indulgent than whatever small vanities you take.” Geralt eyed Jaskier’s fine clothes meaningly. “Can’t say I miss the uniforms a title comes with, but it suits you well. Not as puffed up as some I’ve met, though the colors speak louder than you. Tell me, have I missed much? The gossip in those old circles always turns around the same subjects, but whose names are being thrown about these years? Or have you cut off from it as I have?”

He didn’t particularly care for any of the familiar names, but he hadn’t heard tell of his home since he’d run off. It was only decent to check in where he could, find out if all was well.

“I’ve mostly cut myself out of it, things got … unpleasant before I left,” Jaskier said stiffly before glancing off a bit. “Why don’t we change the subject? There are plenty of other things you can ask me about, anything really.”

Geralt lifted a brow. “Have a family squabble?”

“Far too many rumors concerning me started to be passed around, I was tired of it,” he sighed.

Geralt nodded sympathetically. “I didn’t stick around long enough to hear what rumors started about me. Hopefully they’ve died down over time.” It was only then that he realized they’d been speaking awhile on rather an intimate topic, but neither one of them had exchanged the usual pleasantries.

“I haven’t asked for you name,” he said, prompting.

“People call me Jaskier here,” he said with a little smile. “I was wondering how long you were going to stick with bard,” he teased, trying to break any of the lingering tension left over from their conversation.

Geralt snorted, turning his head. “I only said it once, _bard._ ” He looked at him out of the corner of his eye, smirking. “How long did you think this conversation would last for that to worry you?”

Jaskier ran his finger along the rim of his glass while he pretended to take a moment to think about his answer. “Well, I wasn’t sure how long this would stay _just_ a conversation,” he purred lazily. “Besides, you’ve yet to give me a name.”

“How hypocritical of me. You’d think I was raised in a barn”—rather than only sleeping in one—“for my lack of decorum.” He extended his hand. “It’s Geralt. Of Rivia, most recently. A delight meeting you, _Jaskier,_ ” he purred, in imitation of his earlier flirtation. “And as for conversation, the sun is up. For now, let that be the only thing to rise with the morning.”

The name rung a bell for Jaskier but he didn’t question it further. “It’s been more than a pleasure to meet you as well,” he hummed. “Where are you staying in the city? I don’t want to have to wait for fate to bring us together again.”

“I’ve rented out a barn just outside the walls; I don’t sleep well in the city noise.” He nodded his head south toward the city gates. “You may find me again, if you like, but I go to work generally after sundown. If you want to catch me, you’ll have to come earlier, or much, much later. But for now, while I’m caught, what would you have of me? Breakfast, perhaps?”

“Breakfast sounds delightful,” Jaskier hummed before reaching into his coin purse and setting down the coin for his drink. “Should we go somewhere in the city, or my place?”

“Oh? Did you pack a cook in your bag when you went out into the world?” he teased. The prospect of a meal cooked especially for him was quite tempting. “If you intend to do the job yourself, I expect your best. Or is this your subtle way of getting me closer to your bed? I should warn you, if you turn out to be a poor cook, I doubt this will move much further beyond mild flirting.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “I’ll have you know I’m a fantastic cook where breakfast is concerned,” he teased back before standing up, and pulling his lute onto his back. “Are you ready?”

“That’s a relief; it’d be a nuisance, having a cook underfoot. By all means, lead the way.” Geralt fished a coin from his pocket and pushed away from the bar, leaving it beside his long forgotten mug.

Jaskier took his arm and lead him out of the bar, into the slowly growing daylight. “So, why two swords?” he hummed as they walked along.

Geralt looked down at their linked arms and felt his face warming. He shook his head slightly and faced forward. “In case I break one, I have a spare,” he joked. Then, more seriously, “One’s make of steel, the other of silver. Now and then when a witcher can’t be found, people will hire a bounty hunter to do their work. When I was first starting out, I didn’t always have the privilege of choosing what work I could refuse if I wanted to keep hope of a roof and a hot meal.”

He remembered those early days. It was desperate work, but he’d survived it, even become decent at it, and he’d made his way into an admittedly comfortable situation. It was a strange twist of fate that brought him to his first monster on the road. He’d escaped through the woods of his estate when it happened upon him in the dark. It had been sloppy, and he’d nearly lost a leg in the fight, but he’d made it into town in one piece, both him and his horse Roach intact. Until that fight, he hadn’t known the sword was silver. They’d hung above the entry mantle together, never removed from the sheath until he’d stolen them into the night.

“Family heirlooms,” he explained. “I hadn’t been in the world yet, but I knew it was full of danger: monsters, thieves, and other threats. Nobody was using them, so I decided to put them to their purpose. I’d like to think I know the world better now that I’ve been a part of it awhile, and swordplay came naturally with a little instruction.”

Jaskier listened intently while he spoke, danger was one of the many reasons he hadn't outright run away. In theory he could survive the roads on his own, and he had done just that on his trips to and from home, Novigrad, and Oxenfurt, but he couldn't imagine the toll it took on you if you were on alert all of the time. "I'm surprised they stayed in such pristine condition," the bard said with a lazy chuckle, leaning against Geralt slightly as they walked. "And I could never pick up sword play," he admitted.

Geralt felt the warmth of Jaskier press against his side and felt a pleasant tingling run through him. “I did my best to take care of them. Couldn’t afford a replacement if anything happened.” He scratched his cheek with his free hand, then spoke again. “Swordplay isn’t so difficult. I could teach you a thing or two.”

“I’d love to learn, I’ve heard it’s like dancing,” he hummed before leading him over to a town house and letting them in. “So, what do you usually have for breakfast?” he asked, letting his arm go as they reached the kitchen.

“Not quite. It _is_ in the sense that you need to be well coordinated. You need balance. The movements are quick. You can’t stay too close to your opponent.”

Geralt stood close behind Jaskier, leaning in to speak in his ear. “Dancing, however, allows one intimacy,” he whispered.

Jaskier leaned back against his chest, “I would argue that training could very easily become intimate,” he teased, before turning to face him.

Geralt was well and truly blushing. "I have eggs, usually," he said. "The barn ... they have hens in the yard."

“How about eggs and bacon?” he offered before sitting himself up on the counter, and smiling back at him.

"How do you intend to cook from up there?" Geralt asked.

“Well, I can’t cook with you pressed against my back either, darling,” he teased.

"Then you lack focus.”

“This is starting to sound like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

“Hmm, I accept,” he teased before standing up again and adding some wood to the stove.

Geralt bit his tongue and looked briefly up at the ceiling as Jaskier passed him by. Not where he’d been hoping that would go. He’d been too chicken to press forward given ample opportunity. Well, at least it sounded like he’d get to crowd him while he cooked. A fine consolation.

Jaskier set a pan atop the stove as well and took out the bacon and eggs. “So, what are the rules to this challenge?” he hummed as he waited for the pan to warm up.

“I didn’t think that far ahead,” Geralt admitted. He came up to his side, watching him work. “I thought in a few more seconds, I wouldn’t be thinking at all.”

He chuckled softly at that. “Well, maybe things would have gone differently if you didn’t decide to question my cooking skills,” he teased, putting his hands on his hips as he spoke.

Geralt leaned forward to rest his chin over his shoulder. “No need to rub it in,” he grumbled. He slipped his hands through the loops of Jaskier’s arms, wrapped them around his middle. Tired of being teased, a wicked idea came to him, and he was emboldened by his mischievous attitude. “I wonder how well you can cook after all. Even the simplest things require focus. I would _hate_ for you to get distracted.”

“Well my dear, do your worst,” he purred, stepping closer to the man and kissing his cheek before returning to the stove, to put on the bacon.

The moment Jaskier’s lips touched his cheek, Geralt broke out in a grin. He felt properly encouraged now. As Jaskier set to work, he draped himself over his back, crossing his arms around his shoulders and peeking round the side of his face. He hummed and closed his eyes. This whole encounter had been strangely forward, but he chalked it up to his own recent avoidance of socializing. He was practically throwing himself at this stranger, but he was shameless. He chuckled. That came of keeping a horse for company for months at a time.

“Does that mean I can kiss you?” he asked, softly playing at Jaskier’s neck with his fingers.

Jaskier relaxed in his arms and nodded. It was nice to be held, and Geralt was sturdy enough to lean against without worry, so that’s what he did as he watched the bacon. It had been a little while since Jaskier had been with anyone so he was truly adoring this.

Geralt bent his head low, running his nose along the cord of Jaskier’s neck. He took a breath and sighed, let the vapor of it tickle against his skin. Then, lightly, he pressed a kiss to it. Slowly, he placed another beside it, just above Jaskier’s collar.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, and he let his head fall to the side ever so slightly for him. He indulged in the touch for a moment before moving forwards slightly with his tongs and flipping the bacon.

Geralt chased after him with a chuckle. “Not enough yet,” he said. Good concentration indeed. But he hadn’t begun to do his worst.

He ran a finger around the inside of Jaskier’s collar, pulling it down to expose more of his neck. Another slow, sensuous kiss as he continued again to stroke the other side of Jaskier’s neck with his free hand, light and teasing.

Jaskier made a soft sound and unbuttoned the top of his doublet to let it start to slide off his shoulder. Geralt had yet to do more than just tease ever so slightly and Jaskier was more than happy to give him a little encouragement.

A thrill ran through Geralt at that wonderful sound. He pulled the collar back then snaked both hands around front to begin unbuttoning the rest. Taking a step, he resumed his ministrations on the other side of Jaskier’s neck and pulled the doublet back just enough to expose his shoulders. He then let ghosted his hands over the linen of Jaskier’s undershirt, over his collarbone. He rested his hand on the small buttons revealed. He fingered them, not willing yet to do more. No, not just yet.

Jaskier bit his lip and failed to hold back a whimper. The attention was intoxicating, he was used rougher treatment, a quick fuck in an alley outside a tavern, or even if he made it back home, his partner rarely was gentle with him. He couldn’t linger on the thought too long though, so he stepped up to the stove again and took out the cooked bacon before cracking some eggs in the pan.

Geralt dropped his forehead onto Jaskier’s shoulder and did his best to suppress the bubble of laughter rising from his chest. Jaskier had snapped to attention so quickly! It was endearing how dedicated he was to his task. And really, the breakfast smelled inviting.

“It’s starting to look good,” Geralt said. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of Jaskier’s shirt and spied the soft hair beginning to peek out from underneath. _“Very_ good,” he added.

Jaskier couldn't risk fucking this up, but the eggs would take a few minutes so he could focus on Geralt for right now. "Is that right? Do you want to try some?" he purred, leaning back against his chest, and covering his hand with his own, and moving it so the hunter's hand rested just under his shirt.

“I do,” Geralt rumbled happily, allowing himself to be guided. Before, he had thought that Jaskier was the over-eager, rambunctious type. While that was fun, he preferred something a little more drawn out. He was glad to find he’d been mistaken.

His fingers curled reverently in the soft hair beneath his shirt. He’d had so few encounters … each one was a choice he wanted to treasure. That was what directed him most: a choice, and the time to take it.

Jaskier was enjoying this far more than he thought he would, every touch was a tease, it seemed to almost be a promise for what was to come, and Jaskier felt his excitement build. He allowed himself to seem aloof, and noble although he wanted nothing more than to be ravaged by this man.

“You’re allowed to touch, but most people prefer to taste when things look good,” Jaskier purred, before moving his hand to rest on Geralt’s bicep instead.

“Most people haven’t enjoyed roast pheasant at a court table, savoured slowly, but know only to scarf down what they have in reach. And one eats first with the eyes. But if you’re offering …” He licked a long stripe up the muscle of Jaskier’s neck, then nibbled lightly at the shell of his ear. “So which are you?” he teased. “Pheasant, or scarf? Both have their appeal, and I’ve a taste for either.”

He whimpered softly and let his head tilt to the side slightly. “Pheasant for tonight, I want to be savored,” he said lazily as he closed his eyes and gave in to his touch.

Geralt hummed exaggeratedly. “Tonight? Open your eyes Jaskier; it’s mid-morning.” He pulled away long enough to look him in the eye, to reveal the smirk he’d been keeping to himself against his skin. “Unless you think you can hold out that long.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that, “I could, but I doubt either of us would want to,” he teased back, before slipping from his arms to put their eggs onto plates. “I doubt we’ll wait long enough to get through breakfast,” he added as he walked the plates to the table.

Geralt turned and leaned against the counter to watch him, arms crossed over his chest. Yet another morsel to eat with his eyes. “You may be right about that. Is there anything I can help with? Anything I can do?”

“If you could bring over some forks, that would be nice,” Jaskier hummed as he waited for him beside the table. “They’re in the drawer on the right.”

Geralt opened the drawer and picked up two forks. Then he stopped. Turning to look Jaskier in the eye, he tossed the second back in the drawer. He twirled the lone fork in his fingers, smiling mischievously. “There was a bit of grime,” he said, not bothering to sound at all convincing.

Jaskier shared his expression, “Oh dear, I guess I missed it while I was cleaning up,” He hummed as he leaned against the table. “I guess we’ll have to share.”

“I guess we shall,” Geralt said as he slipped into his seat.

Jaskier followed suit and sat in his lap, before pulling their plates closer to them. “Guests first,” he teased.

Geralt swallowed, once more surprised by Jaskier’s boldness. He dropped the fork on the table in favor of holding him steady, hands curling around his waist. He felt warm, solid, and gods above, it was heavenly.

“You have fine manners,” he managed.

“So I have been told,” he teased as he leaned back into his chest. “So, are you going to try some or have you lost your appetite?” he purred.

“You cat. I can guarantee, my appetite is _roaring_ , but I’m afraid you’ve got my tongue.”

“Would you like it back?” he teased as he moved so he was straddling his thighs.

Geralt blinked and for a moment, he really thought he _had_ swallowed his tongue. His breath caught and he had to make a true effort to respond. He nodded. “Very much.”

Jaskier sat up a bit and cupped his cheek in his hand before drawing him into a gentle kiss.

Geralt _moaned._

He pulled Jaskier tighter against his chest. He’d been waiting for that kiss for what felt like hours. It was well worth it.

Jaskier chased after that sound, tangling his hands in Geralt’s hair and keeping him close as he deepened the kiss.

 _Fuck_ that felt good. The lips, his fingers, it was all so very, very good. Geralt couldn’t remember the last time anyone had played with his hair. Jaskier’s looked so soft, he wanted to reciprocate, but he was too busy running his hands up Jaskier’s back. He tugged the shirt up out of his trousers and slipped his hands beneath to feel the muscle of his back.

Jaskier pulled back from the kiss slightly as Geralt pulled a gasp from him. Having his hands explore every inch of him was a treat he could hardly describe, he could hardly imagine what the rest of the day could bring.

Geralt took the opportunity to pepper kisses along Jaskier’s jaw, working down as his hands worked up. The shirt was gathering on his arms slowly but surely. “Take it off,” he mumbled, scratching at Jaskier’s neck with his teeth.

Jaskier pulled off his shirt and cast it aside. “We should move,” he said breathlessly as he tangled a hand in Geralt’s hair. The man was intoxicating and he wanted nothing more than to be drunk on him.

“Definitely,” Geralt said, lifting his hips upward, more than _happy_ to move.

Jaskier gracelessly moved from his lap and took Geralt’s hand in his before leading him upstairs to his room.

“What about breakfast?” Geralt asked, stumbling along after him.

“We’ll eat later,” he said dismissively as he lead him into his bedroom.

A marvelous plan.

As they made their way through the door, Geralt tried to capture Jaskier’s lips in another kiss, already longing for his warmth after the brief loss of contact between the table and stairs. He cradled his jaw, pushing him up against the frame.

Jaskier moaned into the kiss, and tugged Geralt closer to him by his hips. The contact sent sparks through him, and he found himself craving more.

“I take—back what I—said in the bar,” Geralt said between kisses. He rested a moment, braced in the junction between Jaskier’s neck and shoulder. “You can rise all you want this morning.”

In fact, he hoped it might be more than once.

Jaskier hooked a leg around his hip to keep him close. “I should hope so,” he chuckled fondly, before running his fingers through Geralt’s hair again. “But I hope you still intend to _savour_ me,” he couldn’t help but tease.

Geralt’s breath hitched and a hand flew to Jaskier’s thigh to support him. He sucked a mark on Jaskier’s neck and popped off with a wet sigh. “Oh, you have _no_ idea,” he replied. As far as he was concerned, Jaskier was a four course meal at the very least. Even that might’ve been selling things short.

Jaskier wrapped his arms around his neck to keep him close. “Show me then,” he purred. The look in Geralt’s eyes was enough to have him begging if the man asked, but he would continue to play at being aloof for now.

“You really _are_ a cat, aren’t you? The way you roll the words off your tongue … it’s no wonder you’re a bard.”

Geralt hiked Jaskier’s leg higher up his hip and pulled the weight of Jaskier against him, picking him up. He carried him over to the bed and dropped him on his back and leaned perched above him. He chased after Jaskier’s tongue greedily, keeping one hand under Jaskier’s thigh. Slowly, his hand crept higher, groping at the muscle as it went. It settled at Jaskier’s hipbone and he pressed his thumb into it, keeping him pinned in place.

Jaskier kissed him back eagerly, reaching for whatever he could to keep him closer, tangling a hand in his hair and clawing at his shoulders to pull him against himself.

Another kiss, then Geralt pulled back, panting to catch his breath. He reached back to take Jaskier’s hand in his, then turned his head to kiss his wrist. “Fuck. The way you kiss, I might not have a chance to savour you the way you ought to be.”

Jaskier chuckled breathlessly. “I guess you’ll just have to try your best,” he teased lazily, as he met his eyes. He was already a little flushed, and he wasn’t sure how long he would be able to keep it together but he didn’t care much as long as Geralt kept touching him.

Geralt lowered his head once more to kiss along Jaskier’s collarbone. “Tell me what you want,” he said, hot breath puffing against his chest. “How you like to be kissed. Where.”

Jaskier blushed, this was new, he was used to people simply taking what they wanted from him, not catering to his needs, he couldn’t find a good answer. “I just want you, anything you want to give me is what I want.”

“Then let’s find out what it is you like together.”

He kissed his way lower, moving down to explore the soft hair he’d eyed earlier. He buried his nose in it, taking an appreciative breath. He smelled fresh, sharp like citrus and perfume, with the musky undertone of fresh sweat. “You smell nice,” he said.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “I’m sure I look nice too,” he teased lazily as he continued to fiddle with Geralt’s hair. He needed to do something with his hands.

“Did I not say so?” Geralt honestly couldn’t remember. He closed his eyes, sighing as Jaskier’s fingers stroked. He leaned into the touch, momentarily distracted from his work. His hand slid down Jaskier’s arm appreciatively and with the other he gave Jaskier’s hip an encouraging squeeze.

"Oh you did, darling," Jaskier said gently, he felt uncertainty start to bubble up in his chest, he wasn't good at this, just sitting there while others did the work, he wasn't sure of what to do with himself. He was far more accustomed to things being quite the opposite actually, and having the time to think past pleasing his partner had him out of familiar waters.

Jaskier’s clever fingers stilled in his hair and Geralt looked up. “Please, don’t stop,” he said, clinging to his arm.

Jaskier nodded a bit and continued his fiddling. "Are you just going to tease me?" He hummed lazily, before gently pulling his hair.

Geralt’s breath hitched again, his head tilting back the slightest. “Just taking my time,” he replied. He lay his arms on either side of Jaskier’s torso, propping himself up on his elbows, and slid his hands under his back to pull him closer. But it was not Jaskier’s lips he captured now in a kiss. He slipped further down the bed to take one of Jaskier’s soft nipples between his teeth. Time to make good on his word and find out what he liked.

Jaskier gasped sharply and tugged roughly at his hair. "Fuck..." he mumbled under his breath. That would keep his thoughts well occupied for now as he let Geralt continue.

A small whine escaped from the back of Geralt’s throat and he accidentally bit down harder than he meant to. “Shit, sorry,” he hissed. He braced his forehead against Jaskier’s chest, grimacing. _That_ was new. In the few encounters he’d had, people had played with his hair a little, but as of yet, no one had dared be _rough_ with him.

Jaskier chuckled softly and gently pulled him back by his hair so he could look at him. For a ridiculously intimidating man Geralt was quickly showing himself to be a tender lover. "It's fine, you didn't hurt me," he assured him, the bard had a blush dusting his cheeks by then but his smile was infallible.

Geralt stared at him. The blush, the smile, the adoration in his beautiful blue eyes … it was breathtaking. Ease washed over him, and the spike of worry passed. He dipped his head again to leave an apologetic kiss on his chest.

“Then please; do that again,” he implored, arms wrapping tighter around him.

Jaskier tangled a hand in his hair, and tugged roughly. "Like that?" he purred as he watched him, a spark of interest in his eyes.

Geralt gasped, digging his fingers into Jaskier’s back. “Y-yes,” he stammered.

Jaskier grinned slightly at that, and pulled him into a rough kiss. Seeing the hunter like that did something to him, and had his imagination running wild.

The sudden pull caught him off balance and unexpectedly. The eagerness of Jaskier’s kiss was also surprising and there was a clash of teeth at the start, uncoordinated. Geralt moaned wretchedly, digging harder in his attempt to get impossibly closer.

Jaskier wrapped a leg around his hip and held him close before pulling away. "It seems like you've given up on savoring me," he teased as he grinned up at him.

“You’re distracting me,” Geralt argued. He had every intention of doing so, or _had_ until Jaskier started toying with him.

Jaskier chuckled fondly. "Aw, the bounty hunter can't handle his hair being pulled?" he teased lazily as he combed his fingers through his hair.

“Shut up.” But there was no bite to it. He was already titling his head back, reveling in the feeling of those brilliant hands. He closed his eyes. When he swallowed, he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple jumping up his throat.

"Make me," he purred back before tugging at his hair again. Seeing that beast of a man cowed so easily was a treat he wouldn't easily forget. It was cute really, and being trusted with that so quickly was a treat in its own right.

Geralt growled and braced himself with one arm at Jaskier’s side. He tore Jaskier’s hands from his hair and pinned them above his head, crossed at the wrists. The fog that had settled over his mind began to clear. “Alright,” he panted. “You want to be savoured? You want to be shut up? Then let’s see what brings a bard _silence.”_

He began to grind against him with a slow slide of his hips, staring wolfishly down at the man beneath him. His cock had been straining for quite some time, trapped and ignored inside his trousers. He kept a straight face even as the heavenly contact ran a tremor up his spine. But this wasn’t for him.

Jaskier didn't fight him, and instead met his growl with a smirk for a brief moment before his confidence was robbed from him. "Fuck—Geralt if you wanted silence this isn't the way to get it," he teased breathlessly, as he rocked his hips up to meet his lazy grinds. " _Fuck_ " he reiterated under his breath in a tone that was barely more than a whimper.

Geralt chuckled: a sound that rumbled deep in this chest. He knew better. “It is, if you give it time.” He leaned down on another languid grind to nibble Jaskier’s ear. “You see, the louder you are now, the quieter you’ll be later. Scream enough, shout enough, and that lovely voice of yours will be _gone.”_

Jaskier moaned softly and closed his eyes for a moment. "That all depends on if you can make me scream or not," he taunted again as he chased after his touch.

“It _was_ your turn to issue a challenge. What are your rules?”

"That depends on what you're going to do," he hummed. "I guess, the only rule is that you have to make me scream in pleasure, anything else doesn't count."

“There goes the ‘scream of frustration’ plan,” Geralt joked. He meant to take things painfully slow, maybe get a bit of a rise out of him for fun. He _had_ promised, after all. “Shall we get to it then?”

“I was thinking more about pain, but yes,” he chuckled softly. “Do your worst.”

Geralt knew perfectly well what he’d meant, but he was really starting to like the sound of his laughter. “If my mannerly bard insists.”

A warm-up to begin with. Geralt hoisted himself upright and removed the leg that kept him trapped. He repositioned himself so that he was straddling low on Jaskier’s hips. Then, he released Jaskier’s hands, gave him a stern look.

“Keep those there,” he instructed.

Jaskier moved his hands to Geralt’s thighs and smirked up at him. “Or what?” he taunted as he ran his fingers up his thigh.

“Or I’ll tie them to the headboard and go down to my breakfast,” he replied. He took Jaskier’s hands and put them back in place, giving him a look to prove he meant business.

Jaskier pouted up at him but kept his hands there. “Fine,” he huffed once he caught his look and settled under him.

Geralt lifted his head approvingly. _“Good boy,”_ he purred. He trailed his hands down Jaskier’s arms, down to his shoulders. There, he began to massage, getting him loose and relaxed. It was, in part, for selfish reasons: to feel the firm muscle that made up much of his physique.

Jaskier blushed heavily and bit his lip. The praise was worth making this easier for Geralt, to relax at his touch, to do as he was told. With praise it was worth it. The massage pulled sweet gasps and moans from him as Geralt worked at his muscles

Geralt massaged lower, groping his chest. Jaskier’s nipple had grown soft again, being left neglected while they spoke. He decided to remedy that, rubbing both with his palms. As he did, he resumed his languorous grinding once more.

“You’re a pretty sight,” he praised. He couldn’t wait to see him undone.

Jaskier whimpered at the touch, and glanced away from him for a moment as he tried to collect himself, which ultimately failed seeing as Geralt wouldn’t give him a moment to think.

Ah, so it began. First a whimper, then who knew what else?

Geralt took advantage of Jaskier’s turned head to assault his neck with a fresh mark, sucking the skin as he gave his nipples a firm pinch.

Jaskier gasped sharply at the new attention, he wasn’t going to be able to hide that bruise under his doublet, but now wasn’t the time to whine about it.

Geralt teased at him with his teeth. He lapped at different spot, contemplative. It might be fun to leave a mark of another kind. Later, riding him, ramming him against the bed, teeth sunk into the firm flesh of his shoulder. Speaking of, it was high time to get him out of those bothersome trousers.

He left off toying with his chest, instead shifting himself back to sit on Jaskier’s thighs. He stroked down Jaskier’s exposed waist with the back of his nails, tickling, teasing, and played in the high hem of Jaskier’s trousers, running a finger between the fabric and his skin. Geralt stared down at him, feigning disinterest.

“Hmm. What’s next that we haven’t explored?” he wondered aloud. As he spoke, he rubbed a palm against Jaskier’s crotch suggestively.

Jaskier gasped sharply as he touched him like that. He was already hard, and he couldn’t help the way his hips rocked to get more of that friction that had him moaning.

“It’s far more fun to see what you’re actually exploring,” he teased as he let his legs fall open.

“Is it?” Geralt slipped away to kneel at the foot of the bed. He grabbed Jaskier’s ankles and pulled him so that his bottom was half dangling off the edge, then tucked his head between Jaskier’s legs to give his clothed erection a tender kiss.

He whimpered softly and tangled a hand in his hair again to keep him from going too far away. “I can’t wait to really feel that mouth on me,” he purred breathlessly.

 _“Hands,”_ Geralt warned. He could not lose focus, not when he meant to lavish his attentions undistracted. There’d be time for _him_ later.

Jaskier whined softly but folded them behind his back anyways. “It’s not fair,” he huffed softly as he set his leg over Geralt’s shoulder.

“I never promised I’d be fair; only attentive.”

“I never said I liked it fair,” he said with a pout.

That gave Geralt an idea. A very cruel, unjustly wicked idea. He smirked at Jaskier below him. “I suppose there are other ways … I don’t suppose I _have_ to touch you.”

Jaskier frowned slightly at that. “What are you thinking?” he asked as he watched him.

“I’m thinking you’re in for a bit of a show.”

So saying, Geralt tugged the bottom of his shirt out from his trousers. He pulled it over his head and tossed it somewhere above Jaskier’s head. His own hands trailed down his neck, his chest, then down to the top of his trousers. He fiddled with the laces, keeping eye contact as he did. One tug on the lace, enticing, he watched.

Jaskier bit his lip while he watched him, his eyes trailing after his hands until they reached the laces of his trousers. “You’re such a tease,” he whined.

“You’re one to talk.”

Satisfied with Jaskier’s rigid attention, he undid the laces in earnest. He nudged his trousers just low enough to extract his cock in hand and closed his eyes as it hit the cool air. For too long he’d ignored it, and it made him burn beneath his skin. He propped a knee on the edge of the bed to steady himself, lest his feet give out beneath him. The power of Jaskier’s gaze had him weak.

Jaskier wanted to taste him desperately, to savor the weight of his cock on his tongue, but that would have to wait for now, seeing as Geralt seemed to be rather strict.

“Fuck you’re big...” he mumbled as he looked him over.

“Not just yet,” Geralt replied, his smile now become a straight smolder. He was certainly hard, but not quite as hard as he _could_ be. Deliberately, he began to stroke.

Jaskier bit his lip and watched him with closely, before having enough of being left out and scooting a little closer to rut against his knee lazily. He couldn’t help the smirk upon his face when he met Geralt’s eyes.

Geralt looked down at him and scoffed in disbelief. Not one full minute had passed and already Jaskier had grown impatient, the little brat. On top of that, he had the nerve to be so brazen about it. Well, he could fix that.

Sweetly, Geralt smiled and tucked himself away. It was difficult, made him sore to do so, but there was a point that needed to be made.

“Not getting enough attention?” he asked, moving his knee off the bed. He bent down, hands on either side of Jaskier, and angled his head with the suggestion of concern.

Jaskier blushed and looked away from him slightly. “… Yes sir,” he said softly, not meeting his eyes. His tone alone was enough for embarrassment to set in, ever so slightly.

“Hmm, better.” Geralt decided to let it slide. Once. He hooked a finger under Jaskier’s chin and turned him to meet his eyes. “Promise you’ll behave?” he asked, voice dripping, syrupy sweet.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he teased lazily as he met his eyes. “I like seeing you work.” He just couldn’t help himself when it came to things like this, he loved to push his partner’s buttons.

Geralt’s smile sat cold on his face, not reaching his eyes. Last strike.

He grabbed at the waist of Jaskier’s trousers and gave them a tug. “Lift your hips,” he commanded. They were getting those trousers off _now._

He did as he was told without hesitation, and took some of his blankets in hand to ground himself. The way Geralt looked at him had Jaskier weak, stern unyielding eyes, and a dangerous smile, all of it left him buzzing with excitement that he hid well.

Geralt was none too delicate as he yanked the trousers out from under Jaskier and left him exposed. Next, he made short work of his boots and tossed them aside. Finally, he slipped the trousers off completely, and his smile took a turn for the worst, becoming openly devious.

He looped the legs of the trousers around Jaskier’s knees and tied a secure knot, forcing them together. Satisfied, he patted Jaskier’s cheek and rose from the bed. “Let’s see you try that trick again. Now, do I need to secure the arms, too?”

Jaskier gave him a playful glare, and rolled his eyes when he spoke again. “I don’t know, do you?” he huffed before crossing his arms over his chest.

If they had been looking for what Jaskier liked they had clearly stumbled into by now. Jaskier was painfully hard, and a blush still sat heavy on his cheeks

As if Geralt had needed any verbal confirmation. He had already received several enthusiastic hints.

He leaned above Jaskier to fetch his discarded shirt, wrapping it around one of the decorative posts in the middle of the headboard. He tied Jaskier’s hands with either sleeve to keep them above his head. The restraints both served as a punishment and a service, as any good punishment was wont to do.

He ghosted a hand down the stretch of Jaskier’s torso appreciatively. “Wish there’d been enough for a bow. You’d look cute, tied up like a little present, waiting to be unwrapped.”

Jaskier shuddered slightly at his touch before speaking up again. “Maybe next time we’ll tie me up with something made for that,” he hummed. “I’ve been told I look fantastic in silks.”

The last time anyone had tied him up was a bit of a blur, something he didn’t remember fondly, but he didn’t feel any of that with Geralt. It was playful, and didn’t ask much of him without giving him too much room to think. It was perfect.

A flush bloomed on Geralt’s bare torso and creeped up his neck to paint his cheeks. For a flash, he saw an imaginative view of such a scene, artfully arranged, and it was almost more than he could handle. He covered his mouth with a hand and bit his lip, swallowing hard. Before, he couldn’t have even pictured Jaskier spread on a bed before him; now he hoped he might have another opportunity in the future.

“Oh, I think you’d like to see that too,” Jaskier purred lazily. “All tied up for you, laid out for you to do whatever you’d like to.” This wasn’t going to be the last time he would get Geralt in his bed, he was certain of that ever since they reached his house. Well, it wouldn’t be if he had anything to say about it.

Geralt groped himself through his trousers, trying to keep a level head. Now was not the time for a fantasy; it was the time for here and now, and the here and now was already something spectacular.

“Are you just going to stare darling?” he purred as he watched him. “I thought you were trying to make me scream.” Jaskier was grinning at this point, all too proud of how he was affecting his partner.

Right. The goal, the whole point of this exercise. First and foremost finding out what Jaskier liked, then using that knowledge to leave him thoroughly undone. Geralt shook his head to clear it. Time to resume his post.

He sat himself on Jaskier’s knees and inched his trousers down to release his cock once more. “Can you see?” he asked, taking himself in hand. From this position, Jaskier’s erection was tantalisingly close, just out of reach. There’d be no more funny business, no more cheating from him.

Jaskier nodded a bit and watched him. He bit his lip slightly as he waited for him to start. He could take a little teasing, he was sure of that.

“Good. Behave yourself and I might just give you a taste as reward.” Geralt raised a brow provocatively as he gave himself one long, slow stroke. By the time his hand reached the top, the end of his prick had already begun to leak precum. A bead of the white, sticky fluid rolled over his knuckle and he waved it enticingly in front of Jaskier’s lips, pulling quickly away before he could make a single motion to reach for it.

Jaskier pouted up at him slightly. “And how am I to behave?” he teased as he watched him. His eyes followed Geralt’s hand instead of meeting his eyes. He was going to enjoy this no matter what, but he needed to know the game if he was going to play it.

Geralt smirked and took him by the chin once more, tilting his head back up to meet his eyes. “You have a perfect view of what you want, but you’re going to ignore it. You’re going to look me in the eyes until I say you’re free to roam. If you look down, I’ll stop, and you won’t get the chance to see me finish.”

Jaskier huffed softly at that, “Fine darling, I’ll play,” he said as he met his eyes with a slight smirk. “You’ve given me an easy game to win,” he purred.

Geralt flushed at the praise implied, and at the catty expression. He began to play with himself, putting on a show. It wouldn’t be a very long one; there were things he wanted to do so much more than bring himself off. When it came to sex, he preferred his partner’s pleasure to take precedent. That was what got him going. But as a part of figuring out what Jaskier liked, it was important to try many things: did he like to be teased, kept waiting? Did he like to watch? To beg and be scolded? To be held down and denied? With every new action came new understanding, and Geralt got to enjoy his every changing expression. _That_ was a kind of savouring as well.

Geralt pumped his hand, steadily climbing, his breath shortening. He kept his eyes open, watching Jaskier all the while. He wanted to see every bit of him, every moment. It must be admitted that he was something of a voyeur and exhibitionist: he loved to watch and _be_ watched. So much of his time was spent hiding in corners and shadows to avoid being found and dragged back into his old life, it was a rare moment when he could allow himself to be seen without fear.

Jaskier watched him closely, he was happy to watch for now, to see Geralt come apart by his own touch was a splendid sight indeed. The bard's blue eyes never left his. "Don't hold your tongue for me darling, I want to hear you," he said sweetly, as a smirk settled on his face.

He quite enjoyed their back and forth; Geralt could be rather stern and domineering but his softness still shone through. It made for an interesting scene, all of which Jaskier shameless indulged in.

Geralt nodded. He hadn’t wanted to be the first to break but … Melitele strike him, that damn _voice_. He had heard it before he’d even seen the bard and it caught his attention immediately. He wanted it to go on, never stopping. _Soon,_ he promised himself. Soon he’d find a way to make that happen. The things he’d like to hear that voice say. His face warmed just thinking about it.

He grunted and began to stroke faster. His breath became more ragged and he panted, making little sounds at the back of his throat, chest rising and falling. _Darling_. He’d never been called such sweet names in his life. They were strangers, and yet it made him feel so cared for. So _wanted_. For him, not for politics. He whined, trying to keep his eyes open, trying to hold Jaskier through the haze.

Jaskier grinned at that. "I love how you sound, darling, I may be a bard but your voice is far sweeter than my own," he purred lazily as he watched Geralt start to come apart. It was a beautiful sight, truly, to see a man like that coming undone for him to simply watch and enjoy.

Geralt twitched and choked on a strangled cry at that. He grabbed the base of his cock and gripped it tight to stop himself, applying enough pressure to suppress the forthcoming orgasm, determined to let Jaskier have his reward. “Fuck,” he groaned. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment to compose himself. Only when he’d climbed down enough did he dare look back. Why did it feel like _he_ was the one being tested?

“You … you can watch now,” he said.

“I want to taste you,” he purred back, straining against the ties slightly as he watched him. “Please?” he hummed, meeting his eyes again with a little pout.

"That's what I like to hear." He'd finally remembered those fine manners of his, so Geralt would make sure he got what he asked for, but first he had to provide. Sitting forward, he groped Jaskier's thigh and ran his hand messily over the head of his cock and twisted. He gasped, bucking up into his own fist, let Jaskier feel the motion beneath him. Frantic hands kneaded his leg, flexing, letting him be a part of it; reassurance that what he wanted was coming. Geralt waited until he had enough gathered before he raised a cum covered hand out to Jaskier's patient lips.

Jaskier ran his tongue along his fingers eagerly before trying to sit up to take them between his lips completely. He had wanted his cock there, but Geralt’s fingers would have to do for now.

A spurt of hot semen dripped from Geralt’s leaking cock at the sight of Jaskier so desperately lapping what he could reach. He swore beneath his breath as it dribbled onto Jaskier’s bare hip. “Open your mouth,” he said, hooking his wet fingers over Jaskier’s pink lips.

Jaskier nipped at his fingers gently before he did as he was told and let his jaw go slack for him. He was more than excited for this, his first taste only left him wanting more.

Geralt closed his eyes and let himself feel the soft play of Jaskier’s tongue between his fingers, lapping obediently away until he was clean. “Such a good boy,” he moaned. He reached forward to run a single finger up the bottom of Jaskier’s erection from base to tip. “Tell me; what would you like next?”

Jaskier gasped softly and closed his eyes for a moment. “I just want you to stop teasing me, and touch me,” he said gently. “I want to feel my pleasure, not imagine it.”

Perfect. Jaskier was ready, and he’d played long enough. Time to indulge.

“You have two choices. One, I let you suck me off the rest of the way. Two, I have the privilege of going first. We’ll get to both eventually, but for now, I’ll allow you to make the first choice. Which pleasure do you desire most?”

Jaskier bit his lip for a moment while he weighed his options. He could hold on a little longer for himself.

“I want you first, I’ve been wanting to suck you off since we left the bar,” he purred.

“Then we’d better get you in position,” Geralt said.

He helped Jaskier sit upright, his bound legs beneath him and his back to the headboard. It took a moment to adjust the bonds around Jaskier’s wrists to accommodate. His hands now sat behind him, though still firmly tethered to his post. Geralt mirrored him, sitting up on his haunches. Before they began, he tilted Jaskier’s head back to capture him in a kiss. It felt like an age since their last. He sighed as he pulled away, keeping a hand on the back of Jaskier’s head. He guided him, leaned him down to where his erection stood waiting, upright with anticipation.

Jaskier tugged at the restraints slightly as he leaned forwards and ran his tongue along the tip of his cock. He couldn’t help himself, especially when he could tease Geralt for a moment, let him get a taste of his own sweet medicine.

Geralt shuddered and his other hand flew to tangle in Jaskier’s hair. That light touch sent electricity running through him. He tried to pull Jaskier closer, encourage him to continue. He looked down, trying to watch as best he could. The bard was onstage now, as his audience was rivetted.

Jaskier hummed contently at the touch and glanced up at him for a moment before taking just the tip into his mouth and continuing his teasing. He wasn’t about to give Geralt his release that quickly, especially after all his teasing

Geralt made a breathy sound and bit his tongue. There’d been a look of mischief in Jaskier’s eyes. Just what was he planning? He only had a second to think about it before Jaskier’s mouth was on him again, then all he could think about was how enticing a picture it made: Jaskier’s lips wrapped around him. He felt the heat rise and held on tight.

Jaskier took him deeper for a moment, and met his eyes before pulling away again. Mischief was more than clear in his eyes after that, it was painted across his grin as well, and the way he watched him expectantly, waiting for him to catch on.

Geralt gasped, but the sensation was quickly gone again. He’d hardly gotten a chance to feel it and it was gone. Looking down, he gipped Jaskier’s hair tighter and swallowed, trying to regain his voice. “What are you doing?” he rasped.

“What I want to,” he purred lazily as he met his eyes again. “I figured that was quite clear really, all things considered.” Jaskier quite liked a firm hand and this seemed to be the best way to get it

“Didn’t you say you wanted to suck me off? Get back to work.”

“Maybe at first,” he hummed lazily. “You do taste divine, darling, but I want more.”

“I said you could _choose_ what you wanted to do; I didn’t say you could do whatever you _want_. If you want more, then get back to it. Nothing’s gonna come of it if you just sit there staring.”

Well, that wasn’t quite true. That intense gaze, that cock-sure grin of his did things that made heat coil inside him, but that wasn’t enough to satisfy him now. He wanted more as well.

Geralt tugged Jaskier’s head back and glared. “What’s it going to take to get you moving?” he growled.

Jaskier’s eyes never left his, and his smile never faltered. “It seems like you quite like my staring,” he couldn’t help but tease. “Just use my mouth Geralt,” he purred. “That’s all I want.”

 _“Use_ it, you say, like a filthy, temptatious whore. If that’s the treatment you want, then I’ll give it to you. I’ll ride you raw, choke you, until you’re struggling to take me down that pretty throat. That’s another way to silence that sonorous voice of yours, I suppose.”

Jaskier grinned at that. “I’ve been told I look best with a cock down my throat,” he purred back. His heart was pounding in his chest, and that faint blush had returned to his cheeks. His confidence was unwavering really, but the way the words affected him was more than clear.

“And just _who_ told you that?” Geralt growled. He tugged Jaskier closer, breathing hard. “How many have had the pleasure?” He was remarkably jealous at the implications.

“I doubt you really want to know the answer to that,” he chuckled lazily before taking the opportunity to run his tongue along the tip of his cock. The look in Geralt’s eyes was intoxicating to say the least, and Jaskier didn’t think he could ever really get enough of it.

Geralt pressed his hips forward enough to shove his cock against Jaskier’s lips. “Enough teasing; let’s see if you really look as good as you say you do. Let’s find out if you’ve ever tasted a better cock while we’re at it.”

Jaskier wished he had his hands to steady himself a bit better, but he would make do. He took him without hesitation, almost entirely before he had to started to pull away again. He glanced up at him while he worked, to see his reaction.

Geralt twitched and dug his hands at the base of Jaskier’s head stroking his hair. Jaskier’s mouth was hot and wet, and he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. How did he look so damn _composed?_ Here Geralt was, panting and gasping, while he remained so bloody silent. It was maddening! True he couldn’t say much with his mouth occupied, but those steady eyes taunted him. So Geralt pulled him forward, tried to catch him off balance. He wanted to be used? Fine. Geralt would ensure that it was all left up to him.

Jaskier choked when he was pulled forwards, and he pulled back against him to get breath in before continuing. He felt rather spoiled like this. Geralt was rather appreciative and eager, which made this far more fun. Once he forced himself to relax again, he took his cock in its entirety.

Geralt rolled his head back and moaned. “You’re obscene,” he said.

He hummed around him as he settled into a steady rhythm again, trying not to give Geralt time to think as he continued.

Geralt removed one of his hands, bringing it up to bite his knuckles. He hissed and thrust his hips forward, still holding Jaskier steady. “Fuck, that’s good,” he said. “You and that filthy tongue of yours.”

He pulled back and ran his tongue along his length as he did, just to prove his point before leaning into Geralt’s touch and relaxing his jaw for him, watching him expectantly.

Geralt bit down harder. Point made. “W—” he strangled on his words as Jaskier worked his way back. He had to clear his throat and start over. “What else can you do?” he panted. Before he took what he wanted, he wanted to know just what Jaskier had done for his other lovers. He wanted it all, and he wanted to come out better than all the rest. He was studying, even as his brain began to fog. Jaskier would be in for a treat very soon.

Jaskier pulled away entirely, and swallowed before speaking, “Quite a bit, you need to be specific,” he said softly, his voice already a little worn. The bard wasn’t lying, he had quite a bit of experience, but it didn’t vary much from partner to partner for the most part.

Geralt shook his head. “Can’t be,” he said. Then, he was trying to pull Jaskier pack in place again. His cock was cold and wet in the air. All he knew was that he wanted Jaskier back on it, whatever he was inclined to do. Fuck specifics. He couldn’t think long enough to name a single thing.

Jaskier eagerly obliged him, relaxing as best as he could as he settled back into a comfortable rhythm. That mischievous look in his eyes never seemed to truly fade, and clearly the bard was quite happy with himself for getting Geralt to this point.

Geralt hitched. The noises he’d tried to suppress grew louder. He tried to time a thrust with Jaskier’s pace to take himself further down his throat.

Jaskier hummed around him and eagerly met his thrust, before taking the rest of his cock as well. He pressed his tongue to the underside of his length and pulled away again before returning to the rhythm he had before

Geralt gasped at the sight. Jaskier had taken the thrust like it was _nothing._ And what’s more, if his tongue and his humming was any indication, he’d encouraged it. His hips snapped involuntarily and he covered his eyes. It was too much. Far too much. He was struggling to catch his breath as the light sweat broke on his back.

Jaskier struggled slightly with the sudden movement but gave into it again, effortlessly. He loved the sounds he pulled from Geralt, each one an encouragement to keep going.

Jaskier had him _keening._ Then, Geralt tugged a lock of his hair, shaking is head. “I—Jaskier, slow down. I’m not—I’m going to—” He was struggling once more to find his voice. He reached for Jaskier’s shoulder with a trembling hand to warn him.

Jaskier didn’t slow down, the touch only had him taking Geralt deeper, and keeping up that near punishing pace. He wanted to see him come apart, and so far it was a beautiful thing.

Geralt’s hands flew to the headboard to brace himself. He leaned over Jaskier moaning, breathless, feeling like he was on fire. His entire body shook with pleasure and he couldn’t keep his eyes open. That was fine. Jaskier’s eyes still lingered there in the dark. He thrust forward, nearly there. So deliciously close.

Jaskier met his thrusts halfway so he was taking his whole cock almost every time, as he was trying to push him the rest of the way into his end.

Geralt’s sensitive cock brushed the back of Jaskier’s throat. He cried out as he came, felt Jaskier’s throat contract around his girth in a way that was divine. For a moment, he thought he’d gone blind. He opened his eyes and angled slowly back, brushing his hand down the headboard, over Jaskier’s shoulder, up his neck to at last rest on his cheek.

“You look like you were born for temptation,” he sighed.

Jaskier swallowed around his cock as he pulled away and looked back at him with a breathless grin as Geralt pulled out. He settled against his touch as well, closing his eyes for a moment after meeting his, and resting his head in his hand.

It was unfair how positively angelic Jaskier looked, he who’d behaved so devilishly moments before. Geralt felt like a maiden drunk on her first tumble in the field, heart swollen, enamoured. It had been a long time since he’d had someone in his bed—in _any_ bed. It was hard not to.

“Kiss me,” he begged, suddenly feeling unsure he could even ask such a thing.

Jaskier looked up at him again and strained against the ties ever so slightly as he sat up straight so it would be easier to kiss him. “You’ll have to come down here first,” he teased in that same quiet strained voice.

“Fuck, you sound wretched,” Geralt moaned. It was beautiful. He leaned down, wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s waist to pull him flush against his chest. He dug one hand in his hair, angled his head back, breathing deeply as their lips connected.

Jaskier moaned into the kiss, and his own pleasure slowly came back into focus as he relaxed into it.

Geralt felt his interest press against his stomach. He tried to force himself down from his fog. He still had a task to perform.

He cleared his throat. “Now that you’re warmed up, I believe it’s my turn.” He tried to bring back that even, confident tone of voice from earlier. It worked only a little. Soon enough, he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

Jaskier grinned at that, and met his eyes once more. “Oh? And what are you going to do?” he purred as he watched him and spread his legs slightly.

“What _I_ want,” Geralt answered.

Geralt kissed his way slowly back down until he came to rest, nibbling the muscle of Jaskier’s thigh. He untied the bonds at his knees, rubbing where Jaskier had strained against them earlier. “Spread yourself,” he commanded.

Jaskier spread his legs further for him and bit his lip while he watched Geralt. A whimper escaped him at the little bite Geralt had left behind but he was rather quiet.

Geralt lifted his head slightly. “Say something?” he asked. He smiled knowingly.

“Don’t look so satisfied with yourself, or I’ll make this difficult,” he huffed quietly, in that cute strained tone.

“As long as it keeps you talking, you can be as difficult as you want.” Geralt kissed higher up his thigh, keeping careful to stay just out of reach of his cock. Then he smiled, flicking his eyes upward. “I’ve been taken care of. If you want to prolong this, by all means, go ahead. I said I’d savour you; I’d _love_ to draw things out. It’d be my pleasure.”

Jaskier huffed softly and pouted at him. “Untie my hands then,” he said as he met his eyes. Jaskier was blushing faintly and poorly trying to hide his whimpers at the teasing kisses.

“Hmm … and if I don’t feel like it?” he asked, nipping at his hipbone.

He had had every intention of doing so before Jaskier spoke up, but now, what a fine bargaining chip he’d been given.

“Then I can’t pull your hair,” he purred back, after gasping softly at the nip.

“Don’t try to trick me with that,” Geralt replied, smirking against his skin. He rubbed his rough cheek against his leg. “You won’t distract me this time.”

He whined softly. “At least re-tie them so I can lay down?” he begged softly as he spread his legs a little further.

Geralt massaged his hips, digging with his thumbs. “Tired, are we?” He rubbed Jaskier’s thighs, stroking upward until he nearly met Jaskier’s cock, then back again, leaving it straining. He licked his lips and tilted his head to the side.

Jaskier whimpered softly and closed his eyes. “Sore shoulders really,” he said as he tried not to fidget under the attention.

"I can fix that, if you ask nicely."

He paused to think for a moment before giving in. “Please sir? Untie my hands and I’ll be so good for you,” he purred.

“Do you promise?”

He crossed his fingers and nodded obediently.

Geralt chuckled. Ever obliging, he gave Jaskier’s hip a kiss and sat up to untie this arms. “My mischievous boy. Remember; you promised to behave,” he whispered. “Any tricks and I’ll remember _my_ promise.”

And then his hands were free.

Jaskier rubbed his shoulders once they were free, before he moved into Geralt’s lap, and kissed him gently.

Geralt hummed, lifted a brow in surprised, but allowed it. He closed his eyes, slipped his tongue between his teeth, exploring with another pleasant hum.

Jaskier tangled his hands in his hair and relaxed into the kiss, slowly grinding against him as he continued.

Geralt whined, then quickly pulled away, eyes fluttering open. “What did I say about those hands?” he asked.

“Nothing sir,” he purred with a smirk. “I just said I’d be good, and you agreed.”

“Not the kind of good I meant. Hands down, now.”

He huffed softly and moved them to his lap.

Geralt smiled. “Good boy.” It was _his_ turn to purr. “Still feeling sore?”

He nodded a bit. “It’s hard to suck cock with your arms tied down,” he mumbled softly. To be fair it had taken a lot of the fight from him too, but he wasn’t about to say that.

Geralt stroked his cheek sympathetically, running a thumb over Jaskier’s lip. He leaned forward to offer him a light kiss. “Lay down for me. Do you have any oil?”

“They’re in the top drawer of the vanity,” he said softly as he laid down and hugged a pillow to his chest.

Geralt rifled through the drawer, producing a bottle and uncorking it. He poured a good amount into his palm and set the bottle aside. Then, he straddled Jaskier’s back, supporting himself on his knees. He rubbed his hands together to get the oil warmed up, then began to massage Jaskier’s shoulders gently.

“Let me know how that feels,” he instructed.

Jaskier let out a breathy little moan and relaxed almost immediately under the gentle pressure of his touch. “It’s nice,” he mumbled.

Geralt dug his fingertips a little harder into the muscle. He rubbed in small circles, working down Jaskier’s back before he resumed his long strokes. He leaned down over him, pressed a kiss to his shoulder as his fingers prodded his lower back. “How about now?” he asked. “Feeling better yet?”

Jaskier whined softly and nodded. The touch made warmth run through him as he became putty in Geralt’s hands. “Really good—I’m starting to,” he assured him gently.

Geralt gripped his rear, digging in with his nails. “How about _now_?” he growled.

Jaskier yelped slightly in surprise and hid his face in his pillow. “That was mean,” he mumbled into the cloth before him.

With a smirk of satisfaction, Geralt kneaded the muscle of his ass slowly, soothing. “Forgive me. I’ll make it up to you in a moment,” he promised, even as he tried to suppress his laughter. He continued to grope it a moment more appreciatively. “You must do an awful lot of walking,” he said. “So firm.”

“I do,” he said as he glanced back at him slightly before wiggling his hips a bit for him. “Are you just going to stare?”

In answer to his question, Geralt swooped down to bite a large mark on the tender flesh.

Jaskier gasped sharply and clawed at the sheets. “Fuck—are you trying to mark me as yours?” he teased breathlessly.

“Maybe,” he said. _Certainly,_ he thought. Even if it was only tonight, he’d mark him while he had the chance. Let any new lover he found in a pub see it, question it, and let Jaskier be reminded who had left it.

“They’ll see it better on my neck,” he teased lazily as he propped himself up slightly on a pillow. “If you really want me to be yours.”

Geralt paused. “Do … do you really want that?” he asked. He rested a hand on Jaskier’s leg to steady himself. Was that really alright?

“I do, I really do,” Jaskier assured him gently as he looked back at him. “Please?”

Geralt wrapped his arms under Jaskier, gripped him tight. He scraped the juncture of his neck with his teeth, testing to see if Jaskier truly meant it. He waited for him to speak up, to pull away or change his mind. When he didn’t, Geralt bit down—hard—and growled with delight.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat and he choked on his words to a moment before relaxing underneath him with a sweet moan.

Geralt pawed at his neck, lapped at the fresh mark apologetically and kissed it. He rubbed his saliva clean away. His heart rose higher at the sight of his claim. Jaskier liked it this rough, at least. That was one hurdle. There was another still to get over before he could be certain, but he let himself hope.

He sucked a bruise higher up where his collar would not hide it, then he pulled away. There was somewhere that yet awaited his attention.

Jaskier slowly caught his breath and looked back at him, “I—I want to turn over,” he said breathlessly as he watched Geralt. “I want to see you.”

“What do we say, Jaskier?” he prompted.

“Please, love,” he said sweetly. A heavy blush stained his cheeks as he realized his slip of the tongue. It was too soon.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. He set a hand on Jaskier’s shoulder to turn him over slightly. _“What_ did you say?”

“ … Love?” he said shyly, not meeting his eyes.

Geralt rolled him over on his back and trapped Jaskier underneath his limbs. He licked his lips. “Say that one more time,” he rumbled. He ground himself low, rubbing Jaskier’s erection with his own renewing interest. “Come on, darling. Be good to me and call me that again.”

Jaskier gasped softly and closed his eyes as he tried to focus. He rocked his hips up slightly and met his eyes with that blush still on his face. “Yes, love,” he said shyly

 _“Darling,”_ Geralt sighed. He ran a hand down his chest, made him lie back. “Now you sit there and let me take care of you, alright?”

Jaskier nodded a bit and settled into the sheets. “Thank you,” he said warmly as he smiled up at him.

Geralt put a finger to his lips. “Gorgeous. I’m going to make you feel so good,” he crooned. Like a lover worthy of the name. “Spread your legs for me. Make it wide.”

Jaskier lapped at his finger lazily and spread his legs wide for him. “Like that?” he purred as he paused his licking.

“Perfect.”

Geralt took the bottle of oil from the night table and coated his wet hand with it. He dribbled more over Jaskier’s erection, watched it drip over the base and down over his scrotum. Time for the feast.

His hand was teasingly light as he gripped Jaskier’s cock. He gave it a deliberate, slow stroke, let his fingers dance over the head to elicit a cry of pleasure. “Let me hear you,” he said.

Jaskier whimpered softly and covered his eyes with his arm as he rocked his hips up into his touch. He was more than happy with this, especially if Geralt kept talking.

Geralt lifted Jaskier’s arm away. “Why so shy? I thought you wanted to look at me. Look at me, love.”

“I, I can’t think,” he said breathlessly. “Not when you look at me like that and keep saying things … like that,” he said with a blush.

“You don’t have to think. Just let me look at you. _I_ want to look at you, my perfect, _beautiful_ —I’ve never seen a lovelier expression on any man’s face before. Let me savour it. You promised me. Please.”

Jaskier’s heart fluttered in his chest, it was as if Geralt knew exactly what to say to him. “Kiss me, please?” he asked softly.

Geralt smiled. He cradled Jaskier’s jaw in his hand and lowered himself to offer him a tender kiss. “Anything you ask,” he said. He kissed his forehead, nuzzled the side of Jaskier’s face with his nose sweetly. “My darling one.” And he kissed him again.

Jaskier kissed him back gently and covered his hand in his own. “You’re incredible,” he said softly as he pulled away from the kiss, with pure adoration in his eyes.

That look made Geralt’s heart flutter in his chest. He ducked his head, shying. “You’re … so complimentary,” he mumbled.

Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair gently. “Well, I can’t help it,” he said gently

Geralt swallowed a lump in his throat. He gave Jaskier a quick peck on the cheek then cleared his throat, pulling back to resume his work.

Jaskier gasped softly but eagerly settled into his touch again. “Fuck, Geralt, I’ve been wanting this.”

Geralt smiled proudly and switched hands, giving him another firm stroke. “And how about this?” With his already slicked hand, he pressed a finger at Jaskier’s entrance and began to massage the rim slowly.

Jaskier's breath caught in his throat and his eyes went wide. "Fuck—love, please," he begged in a little whimper as he looked up at him.

Geralt licked his lips and grinned. He slipped his first finger inside.

Jaskier gasped sharply and bit his lip. His blush seemed to settle across his chest as well, and he tried to relax.

“You look so cute when you struggle,” Geralt praised. “Just relax. I’ll take it as slow as you need. Let me hear it, Jaskier.”

"I just need a second," he said breathlessly as he relaxed around him. "Thank you."

When the muscle relaxed enough, Geralt added a second finger, scissoring him open wider. This was going to take some time, but he’d make it worthwhile. “You’re being so good,” he murmured. He bent down to nibble his thigh again. He twisted his fingers, timed in sync with a mild stroke of his cock. “Such a good job.”

Jaskier tangled a hand in the sheets and arched his back slightly. “Thank you, sir,” he mumbled sweetly as he rocked his hips up into his touch.

Geralt stretched him, taking great care. He reached deeper in and angled his fingertips, searching until he found what he was looking for and brushed against Jaskier’s prostate.

Jaskier cried out sharply and clawed at the sheets. “There—there please, love,” he begged as he met his eyes.

Geralt smirked. “Do you think you’re ready for my tongue?” he asked.

He nodded quickly and spread his legs a little wider for him. “Please,” was all he could manage out.

Geralt hummed and crawled further down the bed. Taking hold of Jaskier’s thighs in either hand, he pressed his tongue inside. He thrust it in and out unhurriedly, enjoying himself as he felt Jaskier beginning to squirm.

Jaskier tangled a hand in his hair gently and lazy moans spilled from his lips as he relaxed into the feeling.

“Yes,” Geralt gasped, pulling away a moment. “Yes, keep doing that. Guide me. Show me how you want me.”

Jaskier pulled at his hair gently and brought him closer. “I want your fingers too,” he mumbled softly.

Geralt pressed his fingers in beneath his tongue. He’d never tried that before. It was strange, but gods above, it got him the results he wanted.

Jaskier clawed at the sheets and closed his eyes as a moan escaped his lips. “Fuck—darling please.”

Geralt pulled back. “Please, what?” he asked, sincerely at a loss. He’d done what he’d been asked; was it not what he’d wanted?

Jaskier blushed. ‘Please’ was really just a filler word for him, he wasn’t asking for anything and it just slipped out. “Nothing, Sorry, my tongue got away from me,” he said gently.

“So it seems it has,” Geralt joked, sticking his tongue out. Better put it back then. He was laughing as he made his way back down and it was joyfully that he returned to his task. He added a third finger. He’d be ready soon. Very soon, now.

Jaskier gasped sharply and his hands quickly found their place in Geralt’s hair once again. “Those hands are going to be the death of me,” Jaskier said with a little whine.

 _So would yours_ , Geralt thought. He moaned, closing his eyes. The tight heat of Jaskier around his tongue, the hands in his hair, and his voice were the undoing of him. He could play him like a lute. Geralt took his time, perhaps took far too much of it, simply enjoying himself as he feasted. He could do this for hours just to hear the wonderful sounds Jaskier made, but he had other plans in mind. It was with great reluctance that he pulled away. He gave it a final test, stroking with all four fingers to ensure he was properly stretched.

Jaskier moaned softly and looked up to meet Geralt’s eyes. The bard looked thoroughly wrecked. His lips were still wet from earlier and his face flushed. He had a hand tangled in the sheets but most importantly he looked at a Geralt as if he hung the sun in the sky. “I—I’m ready,” he assured him before biting his lip.

Geralt smiled. “Ready for what?” he asked softly.

“I want you,” he said gently, holding his gaze. “Please, love.”

Geralt crawled forward to kiss him, stroking his neck tenderly. When he’d finished, he shifted back to look him in the eye, a hand to his cheek. “You _have_ me,” he said. If he wanted, he might have all of him. _Fool,_ his heart whispered. It was only a night, only a fuck, only a silly little word. But it had been left alone for so long, and Jaskier’s adoring eyes begged to be seen, to be loved, and Geralt wanted so desperately to love.

“How do you want me?” he whispered, lining himself with Jaskier’s entrance. “Any way you ask, I’ll oblige. What do you want of me?”

_Do you want me? Will you still want me?_

“However you’ll take me is how I want you,” Jaskier said softly, “Rough or gentle I don’t care as long as I have you.” Jaskier was trying his best to savor this, to savor the feelings as Geralt had so easily found his place in his heart. He could love this man so effortlessly, be his if he asked. Gods he wanted him to ask. Then he wouldn’t have to let him go.

“I can give you both. With enough time, I can give you more,” he replied. Would there be time? And if so, how much? This infatuation would be the death of him long before Jaskier’s hands could ever get the chance. But at least tonight, he could offer the two.

“We have all day,” he said warmly. “And we could have more time than that,” he offered. It was a start, a simple offer that Jaskier hoped Geralt would take him up on.

Geralt’s chest filled with a shining hope. _Perhaps this time,_ he thought. He shrugged. “I don’t know if I have the stamina for _all_ day. I’ve been up for hours, and I haven’t even had my breakfast.” Not mention his orgasm had drained him a little before. He was riding mostly on determination. “You may have to give me time to rest, lest my performance falter.”

“We’ll remedy that soon,” he teased. He doubted he would last long like this, between Geralt’s touch and his own anticipation, he was sure to come undone.

“I should hope you’d have a little more faith in my stamina than _that_ at least.” But Geralt chuckled. “I still have to leave you speechless.”

“It’s not your stamina that I worry about,” Jaskier teased back. “I do doubt how speechless you’ll be able to make me.”

Geralt smirked. Then, keeping eye contact, he grabbed Jaskier’s hips and agonizingly slowly, he pushed inside. The preparations had been well worth the trouble. He slipped inside with little resistance, gliding smoothly by virtue of the oil.

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut. “Fuck,” was all he could manage out as he adjusted to the feeling.

“I’d say that’s pretty speechless,” Geralt teased. “At a loss for words, bardling?” He emphasized his smug triumph with a short upward thrust of his hips.

Jaskier gasped sharply. “That’s not fair,” he mumbled as he pressed back into his thrust.

“It’s perfectly fair. How did you _think_ I meant to steal your voice? With magic? That I’d suck it out of your throat with a kiss? No, I meant to scream it into oblivion, or render you so scattered you couldn’t form a single word. I intend to try both.”

Jaskier blushed and reached up for him. “Well if you intend to throw me into the depths of my own desires, at least hold me while you do.”

“Likewise,” Geralt purred. He stroked his hands up Jaskier’s back, bringing him in close. He bent his head forward to kiss his neck, admiring the marks already turning dark on his skin. He suckled the skin between his teeth and closed his eyes. “Talk to me,” he said, breath hot and wet. “About anything. I want to hear your voice until it gives out.”

Jaskier moaned softly as Geralt added yet another mark to his neck. “Fuck—love that gives me so many options,” he said breathlessly. “I can’t get the image of you being drunk on your own pleasure out of my mind, the way you looked as you came apart, it was incredible.”

Geralt rewarded him with a deeper thrust, slowly pulling back to rub against his prostate. He nipped at his collarbone. “You’re a sight yourself. I bet I could watch you pleasure yourself and come without ever needing the aid of your touch. You spark something in me. Something for which I have no name.”

Jaskier whimpered softly at the movement and closed his eyes for a moment before looking back at Geralt. “Maybe we’ll have to try that next time.” He hummed. “I’d love to see you like that, fuck, the way you’d look at me would fill my fantasies.”

Geralt loved that look in his eyes, pupils blown wide and dark. “Tell me about them,” he said. He reached a hand between them to stroke Jaskier’s cock idly.

Jaskier was at a loss for words for a moment, and had to take a breath to get past his own pleasure. “I—I want you to tie me up properly, and take your time to tease and play with every inch of me before finally giving me what I want,” he said breathlessly.

“In silks?” Geralt encouraged, remembering their earlier conversation. He would look marvelous. “I look forward to getting that chance. I want to hear you begging. You’d beg so prettily. Every sound from that voice of yours does something new to me; I think you could talk me off if you really wanted to.” He moaned, burying his face in Jaskier’s shoulder. He could do it so easily.

“I bet I could, and _oh_ I’d love to see you straining against ropes while I just barely touch you,” Jaskier said as he tangled a hand in his hair. “Maybe I’d ride you like that, give you everything you want but not nearly enough.”

“You want to own me, is that right?” Geralt bit at his shoulder. Oh, what an idea. What a tantalizing, desperate idea. “I would,” he confessed. “I’d like to keep you like a bird in a cage, make you sing for me. I’d wrap you in chains: gold or silver around this neck.” He stroked it, raked it with his tongue. “This _delicious_ neck of yours. If I were an emperor, you’d wear nothing at all, night and day, but thin, beautiful chains, then all would see you and know that you were _mine_. They’d look at your chains and know that you belonged to me.”

He thrust his hips twice in succession, laying his claim. As the words were shared between them, he was becoming less tender, more possessive.

Jaskier gasped sharply and tugged at his hair. “Oh so you want to show me off?” he said breathlessly. “Let the world know I’m only yours to be had, tease the rest by parading me about in nothing but finery that conceals nothing?” Jaskier teased.

Geralt growled, let his head roll back in Jaskier’s grip. “No,” he amended. “I don’t want anyone else to have you—not even the sight of you. I want that privilege for myself.” He gripped his hip as if to tear him from the world and pulled out, thrusting all the way back inside as he _squeezed_ with his other hand. “They’ll know by the marks I leave you, peeking out from under your clothes where they can’t be hidden. They’ll want to follow them, see what lies beneath that would compel a man to be so bold, to mark so thoroughly, but they’ll never get the chance. I’ll run any through with my sword who would _dare.”_

Jaskier cried out sharply and pulled at his hair. He could barely think past his pleasure but he managed out another quip. “Is that a promise?” he teased breathlessly as he tried to hold on.

“It’s a _vow_ ,” Geralt replied. He gave Jaskier’s cock another stroke, quicker now. His nails dug into Jaskier’s hip as he braced himself, thrusts at last beginning to move faster. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love those eyes on you, wanting you, knowing that I saw. You’d probably make a show of yourself, tempt others to tempt me, just so I’d drag you into some dark corner for a quick fuck, remind you to whom you belong. You love to tease and play games. You love it because you know what follows after.”

He moaned softly and couldn’t find space for words between his cries of pleasure. He knew Geralt was teasing, but it was going to break his heart to tell him about his arrangement.

“Yes, I’d like to own you, and I don’t think I’d mind being owned by you in return. By you alone. For that, I might make an exception.”

Geralt thrust again, undulating. He was becoming erratic. “I’ve been so wild so long. Do you think you could handle me?” He chuckled deep in his chest, emphasizing his words with a vicious grope of Jaskier’s ass. “Think you could tame me, make me over and reform me like a fine lord’s son? Would you keep the truth hidden, so that only you knew what it was like when the fancy suits and vests were tossed aside? Or would you prefer me as I am now, a hunting thing that stalks after its prey in the night?”

Jaskier clawed at his shoulders and pulled him closer. “Why can’t I have both?” he mumbled breathlessly as he pressed back against his thrusts. “My beautiful wild lord, who shows restraint only for me.” He was starting to lose his own control, so close to losing himself completely and letting go.

“Hmm, now that’s an idea,” Geralt hummed. His kissed beneath Jaskier’s jaw, coming up behind his ear. “But I warn you now; I will never go back to that life. I refuse to be ordered and dictated to. For all its pleasures and compensations, they would not allow me the one thing I ever asked.”

He jutted his hips upward. Jaskier felt so tight clenching around his cock. He wished he might look and see, but he was much too busy indulging in rubbing Jaskier’s lobe between his teeth. Dear gods, why did he want to bite and tease as if to make a meal of him?

Jaskier couldn’t respond as Geralt finally pushed him over the edge. He came with a cry, his eyes snapped shut and he tried to hold on to whatever he could as if not to lose himself.

Geralt _did_ look then. He devoured the sight in all its glory: the cum that dripped over his hand and sat sticky against his middle, Jaskier’s eyes strained shut, his head pulled back, and his own cock trapped inside him still.

But he wasn’t done with him yet.

Geralt pulled out and turned Jaskier over. He grabbed his hands, clawing his own above and lacing his fingers between. He repositioned himself, entered him from behind as precum leaked from his hole. He bit at Jaskier’s neck, growling, panting as he rocked against his back, riding him through the aftershock.

“You’re divine,” he said. “And you’re _mine.”_

Jaskier couldn’t think, he could barely keep himself in position if Geralt wasn’t holding him there. He was overwhelmed and he loved it.

As Geralt felt his muscles tensing, ready to slip over the edge, he revisited one of his earliest fantasies of the evening. He was so unbearably close. The blood was pumping in his ears, deafening. His knuckles white with the power of his grip, he prepared for his final thrust. As he did, he sank his teeth deep into Jaskier’s shoulder. He came with low roar, spending inside of him. He held position a moment, then sank over Jaskier’s shoulder, panting, his chest slick with sweat against his back. He felt heavy and his limbs shook holding his own weight. Slowly, he pulled his cock back out. He wrapped Jaskier in his arms and collapsed half on top of him, trying to catch his breath.

Jaskier panted softly and leaned against him, ignoring the ache in his shoulder for now as his thoughts started to clear. “What was the one thing?” he asked gently as he settled into the sheets. That had stuck with him, if Geralt was so close to being happy before he ran away, what was the one thing that held him back.

Geralt, however, had only just entered his cloud and his thoughts were far gone. He could scarcely do more than pant and ghost messy, lazy kisses against Jaskier’s neck, not quite able to stop, still wanting, but too tired and unable to do more. “Hmm?” It was as much a question as he could get out. Eyes closed, he pressed his forehead against his neck, breathing him in.

Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair gently, keeping him close. “What was the one thing you couldn’t have if you were noble?” he asked again as he relaxed under the onslaught of lazy affection.

Geralt sighed contentedly. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to lie there with Jaskier in his arms, playing so nicely with his hair, drifting off to the sound of his low chatter. Then the question sank in, brought him out of his stupor.

He opened his eyes briefly. It was … too soon. He held Jaskier tighter, wishing only to let this moment last awhile before he could say or do anything to frighten him off. He wasn’t level-headed just yet, still riding the high of their strange, fantastic encounter. He needed sleep and time to climb down, to become reasonable again. He needed a morning for a fresh start, and the sun was much too high.

“Next time,” he whispered. “Maybe I’ll tell you … next time. I doesn’t really matter now anyway.” He was no longer noble, as long as he could help it. Whatever inhibitions held him back were gone and there was nothing, no one to restrain him, no destiny planned.

Jaskier nodded a bit. He could understand that: he wasn’t about to pour his heart out either and pushing further wasn’t worth it.

“Next time there better be a proper date involved,” Jaskier teased lazily, before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. He would try to hold on to this for as long as he could, or at least as long as his fiancé was away.

Geralt mumbled unintelligibly in agreement before sleep settled over him at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ReBard, here! So this is a large part of the reason why my updates to AACC are kind of slow! Hope none of you mind, especially now that we're down to the last two chapters. My role play partner Monochromerb and I would like to thank you for reading our story! This time around, I played Geralt, and they played Jaskier. We switched playing the extra characters now and then—try to see if you can tell our styles apart for a fun little challenge!
> 
> I made a spotify playlist for it too for fun. Yes, that's a lot of Alec Benjamin. No, I will not be taking constructive criticism on this particular point:
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/09fijuOhQ9TQP4FDE6dXeZ?si=pCuaInBgTxmwLtmuT5psNA


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: this is where most of the violent tags come into play. Give 'em a good review.

Somewhere outside the window, a dog barked, and Geralt opened his eyes. There were no dogs in the barn: only a cat, a couple cows, and Roach. At first, he did not recognize the room, then the memory of the morning’s venture returned to him. He was still dazed. It had been months since he’d slept so well, and sleep clung to him like a possessive lover.

At the thought, he pulled away to look at the sleeping figure lying in his arms. Jaskier lay peacefully at his side, bathed in the late afternoon light like a model in a master portrait. He smiled and snuggled close again, burying his nose in Jaskier’s hair. Then he grimaced, feeling the dry, itchy remains of their coupling on his skin. He was sore, his limbs heavy with leftover sleep and fatigue alike. He sighed. That would need reconciling soon, as would the discomfort in his empty stomach. But for now, he put these things aside in favour of nuzzling behind Jaskier’s ear, drowsily kissing whatever was in reach.

Jaskier slowly stirred and smiled up at him once he opened his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you’d be here when I woke up,” he said gently, sleep still clinging to his words as he spoke. His voice was rough and he was far quieter than before.

Geralt raised a brow before pulling him closer. “Oh? Did you think I’d climb out the window like a thief in the night?” he asked. He chuckled and kissed Jaskier’s cheek.

Jaskier chuckled fondly and pulled him into a gentle kiss. “I wasn’t sure, although the bruises and bites lead me to believe that you would stay,” he hummed.

Geralt turned his head and buried it in Jaskier’s pillow with a groan. His voice was muffled when he spoke. “That was a lot last night, wasn’t it?” He tilted back enough to look at Jaskier from the corner of his eyes, mortification evident in the blooming red flush on his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I got … a little caught up. Did I hurt you?”

Jaskier chuckled softly and shook his head. “I’m just sore darling,” he replied. “Although you seemed to stick to your word last night: you really laid claim to me,” he couldn’t help but tease as he took one of a Geralt’s hands in his.

Geralt remembered many of the things he’d said so shamelessly in the heat of the moment and gulped. Now, with the late light shining through the window, it all sounded so foreign. It was too early upon waking to get so worked up. He buried his face in the pillow again. His ears were quite red by now.

Jaskier kissed his knuckles gently, before looking up at his ceiling. “That’s not fair Geralt, you’re already a god amongst men, you don’t get to be cute too,” he hummed.

“Look who’s talking.” Geralt turned over, emerging from his hiding place. He gestured to Jaskier up and down with his free hand. “Did Melitele herself birth you into the world? You can sing, you can cook, and you’re a work of art put together and taken apart.”

“Oh hush, you don’t need to flatter me, I’m already vain enough,” he teased lazily, before kissing him again.

“It isn’t flattery if it’s true.” He snaked his arms down to grab Jaskier by the waist. A few more kisses, then he pulled back, having had a thought. “It’s strange. You’ve learned my name quickly enough; it sounds like you’ve been saying it for years. I find it so easy to hold you and kiss you, yet we haven’t known one another more than twelve hours by the most liberal of estimates.”

“Well, sometimes the heart knows better than the head,” he teased lazily before playing with his hair again. “Besides, I don’t mind.”

Geralt sighed and closed his eyes, laying back again. He didn’t mind one bit either. “I think you’d better prove it with another kiss,” he replied.

He leaned over and kissed him again. “There, hopefully that will do,” he teased before settling back against his chest. “So, how long will you be in the city?”

Geralt stroked a hand down his back, up and down, as he lay there thinking. Really, that was a difficult thing to answer. It could be months, maybe a year if he was lucky; it all depended on when the first poster went up with his name, picture, and bounty. They hadn’t come to this place yet, it seemed. For now, he felt safe.

“As long as I can be,” he replied.

“And how long will you stay with me?” Jaskier asked gently, before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but he couldn’t help it, it was selfish but he needed to ask.

Geralt lifted his chin to meet his eyes. He offered him a solemn, honest gaze. “For as long as you’ll have me,” he answered.

Jaskier smiled at him fondly, and kissed him briefly. “Until you have to leave then,” he hummed once he pulled away.

Geralt leaned forward, trying to chase him. “You could … ” he bit his lip. Too soon, _too soon!_ But there was always a chance in the future. And there were other ways of asking.

“What about you? How long will you be in the city?”

“As long as I can be,” he said with a sigh. “I’m on a long leash right now but it is still a leash and I am firmly collared to it,” he mused.

Geralt tugged him closer. “Politics?” he asked knowingly.

He nodded a bit. “A huge mess of politics,” he agreed, trying to keep things vague for the moment.

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. “I’m afraid politics will catch up with me again someday soon, this time with a thicker chain. I don’t want to admit it, but I suspect a large part of the reason I’ve been able to escape it is because they’ve been lax with their efforts these last two years on purpose. I’d bet my inheritance that they’re hoping the experience will put me off common living. I’m terrified they’ll soon redouble their efforts.”

Jaskier sighed softly. “Things will only get worse when they realize you’re serious about staying gone,” he said gently. “I don’t have it in me to throw all of it away, so they worry far less.”

“Jaskier, I ran _away_ from the worst,” he said. “They can’t do anything to me that they haven’t already tried. Besides, they’ll have to catch me first, and I won’t go down without a fight. I don’t care if they send every fucking bounty hunter in _Lettenhove_ after my ass—I’m not being dragged back into their political bullshit.”

Jaskier paused as he heard his homeland come in to question. “Who has it out for you in Lettenhove?” he couldn’t help but ask. “What did you do to them?”

Geralt sneered and rolled his eyes far back. “The fucking Pankratzes. I may have ‘gravely insulted’ their heir,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “Some prick Jules or Ian. I don’t know, I never met his _worship_. Don’t intend to either. He can rot for all I care—it’d do me a _favor_ , actually.”

Jaskier giggled at that. _“Julian_ is a duke; you’re being far too generous with your titles,” he teased lazily, keeping his secret close to his chest. For now anyways.

“My mistake. May the highbrow bastard choke on a kikimora’s cock. Sound better?”

“I’m certain he would enjoy it,” Jaskier said through barely contained laughter.

“I’ll bet. But don’t let’s talk about him; I want to talk about you.” He pressed an affectionate kiss to his temple, giving him a loving squeeze. “If it weren’t for politics, what would you do with your freedom? Forget the leash a moment and pretend with me.”

“Travel? See every far off land and preform for all their people,” he hummed. “Fall in love and see it all the way through, grow old with someone, all that cheesy stuff,” he said with a fond little smile.

“You and I are the same,” Geralt said. “Admittedly, most of the travel is enforced, but I’ve seen a lot of the Continent because of it. And I’ve made many attempts to find love. That’s what I wish for most. Perhaps it’s spite, or perhaps it really is my nature, of perhaps it’s because we want what we cannot have. I covet it, really. I wish travel allowed for it more readily.”

“Why is it so unattainable? You’re free, I’m sure someone would run with you,” he insisted, knowing that he could never truly run.

Geralt was quiet a moment, then he sighed, long and low. “People aren’t so willing to run as you think,” he whispered. He let his fingers trail away as he rolled over, turning his back to him. “I’ve tried. I wasn’t enough for either of them.”

Jaskier pressed a kiss between his shoulders before moving so his back was pressed to his. “I would,” he said gently.

Geralt smiled, but there was a sinking in his chest. It was an empty promise—not even a promise, really. He’d only just finished saying he couldn’t give up nobility. “Pretty lie,” Geralt mumbled. But he tucked it away in his heart, just in case there was ever a hope. “But it may not come to it, if I’m careful. I like this city; I’m not eager to leave it.”

Roach was quite settled in the barn, and the city was large enough to provide regular work, without being too large as to put it on the hunting path. It was small enough to be overlooked. He hoped they _would_ overlook it, at least for a long, long time.

“It’s big enough to hide in,” Jaskier agreed. “I hope it won’t come to that though.”

He wanted to live in this moment, hold on to that empty promise for as long as he could stomach it, and pretend there was no threat of marriage looming over him.

“I know. I know the very best hiding places. Part of the job.” His stomach rumbled loudly. With a light pink flush, he turned over to look behind his shoulder. “However, what I don’t know are the best eateries. Can you recommend a decent establishment?

“I can, but that knowledge comes at a price,” he teased shamelessly, before grinning back up at him.

Geralt chuckled, eyeing him. “Haven’t I already paid in full?” He looked suggestively low. They still needed to get cleaned up from their last tumble.

“Not for that,” he teased. “For that you’ll need to buy me dinner, too,” he hummed before moving to lean over his side.

“I think that can be arranged.” Geralt craned up to kiss him and raised a hand to his cheek.

Jaskier kissed him gently before kissing his palm. “We need a bath before dinner though,” he teased lazily.

“You’re spoiling me,” he said, then he sighed and asked, “Do that again.”

He kissed his palm again. “There’ll be more of that in our bath,” he teased lazily. “We just need to get there.”

“Don’t know if I can let go of you that long,” Geralt said. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist once more nibbling at his hipbone as he tried to leave the bed.

He gasped sharply and dramatically fell back into him. “Then carry me,” he teased before kissing his cheek.

Geralt grinned and easily swept him up in his arms, scooting off the bed. He assaulted Jaskier’s face with a barrage of comically quick, exaggerated kisses, then he pulled back and smiled to ask, “Where to, my little lordling? Your humble servant is ready to carry you at your command.”

Jaskier couldn’t help his giggle at that, and he held on to Geralt tightly. “It’s the door next to mine on the right,” he said before pulling him into another kiss.

Geralt hummed, returning his kiss lazily, closing his eyes a moment. He let Jaskier finish, then made for the door and swung it open with his hip, carrying Jaskier through, careful not to bump his feet or head in the doorway.

It was a mostly empty room with a few shelves lined with bottles of oils and perfumes to put in the bath. Speaking of which, a large wooden tub sat in a little stained glass alcove in the room. “Can you stand to be separate from me for a moment so I can get the bath ready?”

Geralt whined but set him on his feet. He leaned against the edge of the tub, arms folded over his chest. “Fine, but you’d better hurry,” he said.

Jaskier turned on the hot water and grabbed a few vials to add to the tub before stepping into the slowly filling pool.

“Huh. You have plumbing,” Geralt said, impressed. He stepped into the tub, watching the water pour from the faucet. You didn't see that very often.

“It’s enchanted,” he explained as he sat down and poured a few drops from each vial into the water, and soon the room started to smell like lemon and chamomile.

Geralt whistled appreciatively. It was a costly kind of spell; he hadn’t encountered it since leaving home. “You must be fond of baths then.” He inhaled the sweet, fresh scent. _Oh,_ that was nice. No wonder Jaskier smelled so good.

Jaskier sat in the water and hummed contently before reaching for Geralt. “I adore them,” he said warmly as he relaxed into the water.

Geralt crowded him against the side of the tub and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “I can tell. You look like you’re ready to melt like ice over a lake in the spring.”

Jaskier kissed him gently. “Well, you must admit the warm water is very pleasant,” he hummed lazily, and he relaxed further.

“I _do,”_ Geralt mumbled against his cheek. He usually just washed himself the common way with bucket and cloth. A bath was a luxury he didn’t miss much, but he’d forgotten how nice they could be. He sighed and rested on Jaskier’s shoulder, closing his eyes to relax and let the warmth soak through him.

Jaskier combed his fingers through his hair before gently weaving a few strands together into a loose braid. “Do you like how it smells?” he asked lazily.

“Mhm.” Geralt nuzzled against him. “Smells like tea,” he said. He stroked mindless circles over Jaskier’s back with one hand, breathing it in.

“Maybe, although I’d much prefer you to a cup of tea,” he teased as he relaxed under his touch, and let his eyes fall shut.

“You could have both, though I might steal your cup for myself.” The water was warm and it made Geralt drowsy. He might very well fall asleep again. This was nice.

Jaskier chuckled fondly at that before pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “That’s fair enough, I suppose,” he said lazily.

“Would you sing something for me?” Geralt asked.

“Of course, what do you want to hear?” he hummed

Geralt tapped a finger on his back, thinking. “Something soft. Whatever you like. I just like to listen to you.”

Jaskier paused for a moment while he thought before starting to sing an ancient lullaby in elder.

Geralt lifted his head slightly in surprise, then settled back again. He was full of surprises, wasn’t he?

“Oxenfurt?” Geralt asked when the song concluded. He doubted Jaskier was elf-born, even for all his beauty, and he remembered his own studies.

Jaskier nodded a bit. “I was fully trained as a bard,” he explained lazily as he settled back against the wall of the tub.

“Sounds like fun. I studied economics; trade and merchantry was my focus. Not much use to me now, it turns out. It does make visiting markets more interesting, I suppose.”

“I suppose so, I was never good at those subjects,” Jaskier said lazily. “My family attempted to get me to study them but I almost failed most of my classes and they let me change.”

“It wouldn’t do for a nobleman’s son to fail _any_ classes, let alone most of them.”

Geralt finally pulled away to lay back on the other side of the tub, his head propped up on the edge. He closed his eyes, thinking back on his time spent studying. “I wasn’t very social in school. Suited me fine; I had too much studying to do anyway. I wonder if we went around the same time.” Geralt opened his eyes, looking at Jaskier, his head tilted. “I suppose not. I think I would’ve remembered you if I’d seen you. You leave an impression.”

“I think you’re a little older than I am,” he hummed back. “And trust me if we were in school together we would have done more than just meet each other,” Jaskier couldn’t help but tease.

The pink in Geralt’s cheeks was not entirely owed to the warm steam rising from the tub. He sank down a little, slumping against its side until his shoulders were covered and he looked shyly away. He cleared his throat. “Do you have a washcloth or anything? We’ll want to get cleaned up before the water gets cold.”

“They’re on the shelf next to the soaps,” he offered before sinking a little lower into the water with a hum.

“Ah, thank you.” Geralt braced his hands on either side of the tub and rose slightly, then sat back down before he’d left the water. “Um … do you … could you close your eyes for a second? Or maybe turn around?” he asked.

“I can, but I don’t see much reason for it,” Jaskier chuckled. “There’s nothing there that I haven’t already seen if not touched.”

“It’s different. That was before.” Without the immediate expectation of sex, standing naked in front of someone else felt strange. “Would you just do it?” he grumbled.

“Of course,” Jaskier said gently before turning around and leaning over the edge of the tub, looking away.

Geralt rose again, looking back at Jaskier before stepping out of the tub. He grabbed a wash cloth and bar of soap before slipping back into the water. He smiled at Jaskier’s back. He really hadn’t looked.

It was then he noticed just how _red_ the mark on his shoulder was. He gasped. It had been difficult to see when he was facing frontwards, but now he saw clearly just how deep a mark it was. He could see the very outline of his teeth. He reached forward to prod it tentatively.

Jaskier flinched and bit his lip. “That’s sore,” he murmured before glancing back at him. “You really left your mark,” he teased lazily before turning back around.

Geralt pulled his hand away quickly and grimaced. “Sorry. Again…”

“I don’t mind it,” he said gently. “It’ll stop being sore in a few days.”

“Will it affect your playing at all? You wear a strap over your shoulder, don’t you?”

“I can play without the strap,” he assured him. “Don’t worry about it.”

Geralt worried nonetheless. “You should still try to take it easy. Does it hurt when you lift your arm?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry I’ve completely lost the use of this arm Geralt,” Jaskier said dramatically, before moving his other arm to cover his eyes. “Woe is me.”

Geralt grit his teeth and turned away. He nudged Jaskier’s side with his foot, being too cramped to properly kick him. _“Excuse me_ for being concerned. I just thought you might need help.”

“I would gladly take the help,” he hummed before moving to lean against him. “I just couldn’t let you go on thinking you really hurt me.”

“How considerate.” Geralt rolled his eyes. Even so, he wrapped an arm around Jaskier, pulling him against his side. He passed the washcloth and soap to him. “Here, go ahead and get started. I’ll comb out your hair for you.” He’d spotted a comb among the essentials. After everything that morning, he wouldn’t be surprised if he had a whole nest of tangles in his hair.

Jaskier relaxed against him, and started working on cleaning himself up. “Can I help you with your hair after?” he asked after a moment. He really did enjoy playing with Geralt’s hair, and most of the tangles in it now were most likely his doing anyways.

“Please do,” Geralt replied. He set to work with a smile, already looking forward to it. He wished his hands weren’t already wet so that he might again feel how soft Jaskier’s hair was. For now, he’d have to wait until it dried later. It really was so smooth—enviously so. “You have really nice hair, you know.”

“Well, I try my best to take good care of it. I had to shave it all off as a child and now the idea of that is frightening,” he chuckled lazily.

“What _happened_ that made you need to cut it all off?” Geralt asked.

“What happens to most children when they don’t care about staying clean,” he chuckled.

“What? It became too tangled to brush out?”

“I got lice from one of the boys in town that I played with, and after that I also got very attached to baths.”

Geralt snorted. “You must’ve looked like a plucked chicken,” he said, chuckling.

“Yes, bald childhood me was a sorry sight,” he chuckled lazily.

“I can’t remember a time I ever had short hair,” Geralt said. He let the ends of Jaskier’s hair trail through his fingers as he combed diligently. “I remember my mother telling me that I was _born_ with a full head of white hair. My father would make fun and say I was born an old man. I was a very serious child, always scowling, like a cantankerous, crotchety geezer.”

“Oh, I would have loved to see that: just a grouchy, tiny Geralt,” he teased lazily. “You would have despised me as a child, I was quite the opposite.”

“I never despised anyone, despite the way things looked. I may have _looked_ serious, but even I played when I was young. What were you like?”

“Well, you couldn’t keep me sat in one place for more than five minutes unless I had an instrument in hand, and even then I was a terror. I lived by the belief that rules were suggestions as a child and I got in heaps of trouble most of the time,” he chuckled

“I think I would have found you admirable,” Geralt contradicted. He looked toward the window, thinking back. “I followed the rules to the letter when I was a boy. I did my best to do my part and become the kind of person everyone expected me to be. I never stepped a toe out of line. In fact, I might’ve even found you frightening; breaking rules and getting into trouble was a kind of power for which I had no concept in those days. If I had known someone like that, maybe things would have changed sooner.”

“Maybe, but when I got older I lost most of that. I had a lot of expectations to live up to, and the standards were higher for me than most,” he sighed.

“That seems to be the way things go in those families. They ask for more and more, so you give and you rise as high as they ask, and then they ask for the impossible.” Geralt’s hands stilled. He gripped the comb, glaring at his hand—his own, free left hand. He was silent.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I still want to do my duty and make them proud eventually,” he said with a soft sigh. “There’s just so much pressure to be perfect.”

Geralt nodded. “I was perfect and it didn’t do me any good. I know now that their love comes at a price too high to pay. I finally broke the rules, broke with _them_ , and left. It’s been hard, but I managed, and I’ve never been so happy.”

“I wish I was that brave, truly I do,” Jaskier said softly, before glancing at his hands. “I’m just not that strong; I did all my fighting when I was young.”

“It wasn’t bravery and it wasn’t strength—it was selfishness!” Geralt snapped, fisting his hands. He recovered, muttering a quick apology. Groaning, he pinched the bridge of his nose, shut his eyes tight.

Jaskier turned to face him. “And? Why must it be selfish to care for yourself, to make sure you have a future you want to live in?” he questioned gently.

Geralt wouldn’t look at him. “I made a decision that affected _more_ than just myself when I left. My choice hurt many people. I sacrificed _their_ futures for my own; that’s what makes it wrong.”

Jaskier made him meet his eyes. “Your family will make do without you and right that wrong. You have to trust in that at the very least, otherwise I don’t understand why you haven’t gone home.”

Geralt stared back. Jaskier didn’t know what he’d done, nor the ramifications of it. “They can try,” he said. “They probably _have_ tried, but every year, the Continent seems to get smaller and smaller, and I see a job posting with my name more frequently. Whatever efforts they’ve taken, I don’t think they’re working.”

“Well, what are you going to do?” he asked gently. “I don’t want you to leave and go toil away without me, but I understand duty,” he said gently.

Geralt pointedly ignored his question. “Here’s a duty for you. Your hair’s all combed; my turn.” He smiled and offered him the comb.

Jaskier knew he overstepped but he followed Geralt’s leave and ignored it. He took the comb and sat on the edge of the tub before reaching for him. “Come here.”

Geralt sighed, relieved. He turned around and lay back, his head against Jaskier’s knees. “Thank you,” he said.

Jaskier fought his temptation to pull his hair and gently started to comb through it. “Of course,” he said gently. “Why don’t you tell me about your time on the road?”

“Where shall I start?”

“First month?” he offered as he continued his work.

Geralt closed his eyes and hummed. “Now that was an interesting time. That monster I told you about, that I met the night I ran away? There was a bounty for it in town. I was so covered in ichor, nobody recognized me. I'd brought one of its fangs with me as a token from the fight. It served as proof that I'd killed it, and they offered me the reward, so I collected my pay and continued onward. That bounty helped me get the supplies I needed to stay on the road, as I'd left woefully unprepared. I bought myself a bedroll, a tarp, some flints, a bag, and feed for my horse. Running away was itself an impulsive choice, so I hadn't put much thought into how I'd do it. I just ran and took the swords on my way out the door."

If he hadn't loved his horse so much, he might've been too out of sorts to even take a horse at all. It had been a blind choice that night. He hadn't even realized the seriousness of the matter until he'd been on the road several days. He remembered feeling frightened and helpless like a child again, despite being more than grown enough to have had children of his own. It seemed silly to call it 'running away' even then.

"I took many jobs after that, mostly menial labor and helping out on farms. I learned to use my swords against robbers and monsters, drunken men in bars looking to stir things up. Before I made it to the edge of the kingdom, they'd sent bounty hunters after my trail. I had to learn to fight and hide quickly. I tore down every poster and ad with reference to me that I could find. I saw the rewards they offered for such work—far more lucrative than the struggling pay I received as a day laborer. That was when I started to consider becoming a bounty hunter myself."

Jaskier let himself linger on every word, and enjoy the story. “Who did you tend to hunt? Thieves? Run always? Deserters?” he asked as he worked through a tangle

Geralt frowned. “I wouldn’t take jobs for runaways; I know that people have their reasons for running. But thieves are fair game. Molesters, abusers—violent people and those who purposefully hurt others for self-gain. Those were the kind of people I hunted.”

It was hypocritical in part. He, too, had hurt others for his own gain, but that was the unintended consequence of his leaving. There was no malice in what he’d done. That was what he so often told himself.

Jaskier nodded along as he spoke. He kept saying the wrong thing. He wasn’t trying to, his tongue just seemed to get away from him.

“I think that’s rather noble. It’s not an easy job and you have a strong set of morals when it comes to the work,” he said gently as he started on a new section of his hair.

"Maybe. It keeps Roach fed, in any case," he chuckled.

“Well, then it works for you—who’s Roach?” he asked gently as he continued to comb through his hair.

Geralt lit up like the sun when he smiled. "Roach is my horse," he said. "I got her as a present a few years ago for--" he hesitated. She'd been his tribute when the engagement was in early talks, but he couldn't let that be known. "My birthday," he concluded. "I've had her about three years now. She's the best thing that ever came of being a noble."

“I might have to meet this lovely lady,” Jaskier hummed with a little chuckle. “Especially if she’s so dear to you.”

"You could always walk me home after breakfast, then you'd know the way. But don't be insulted if she doesn't warm up to you; she's very particular about who she likes."

“Well I’d imagine you are too, but I got through to you,” he teased lazily before settling aside the comb.

Geralt turned around and kissed his cheek. "Maybe. Or maybe I sleep with every blue eyed boy I find in a bar," he teased back. "But you're right. I _am_ particular." That's why he'd refused to marry a stranger in the first place.

“Well then I guess I make a fantastic first impression,” Jaskier teased before kissing his forehead and moving into the water next to him.

"I have a weakness for good music." Geralt wrapped his arms around him as he splashed into the water. "And good cooking. I hope I didn't spoil your efforts with my delay."

“We might have to make more eggs,” he teased as he settled against his side. “The bacon should be fine though.”

"The best part." Geralt closed his eyes again and leaned his head against Jaskier's with a pleasant sigh. He hoped Roach would approve, didn't know what he'd do if she didn't. He measured people by her. If Roach didn't like someone, that was that. But Roach was like him, and she was charmed by music. Maybe he'd introduce Jaskier by having him sing his way through the door. The idea made him laugh a little.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with a chuckle of his own. Honestly he quite enjoyed the sound of Geralt’s laugh, and well, anything that even reminded him of Geralt’s smile made him quite happy.

"I was just thinking about how to introduce you and put you in her favour."

“A bucket of carrots and sugar cubes maybe?” he offered with a grin.

Geralt considered it. "She _does_ love treats. I try to limit how many I give her. But a bucket might be taking things too far.”

“How about a handful?” he hummed back.

"Maybe. Don't go trying to ruin my horse's teeth. Just be nice to her and I'm sure she'll come around." He tickled Jaskier's neck with a finger. "It might help that you smell a bit like me"

Jaskier chuckled softly and kissed his cheek. “I hope so.”

They sat quietly together awhile. At one point, Geralt took up the cloth and soap and started washing Jaskier’s arms and neck, passing the time in comfortable silence. Though he’d already slept long and well, the bath made Geralt sleepy. Every movement, every thought was lazy. It was the most relaxed he’d been in a long time.

Jaskier pulled them from their dreamy haze as the water cooled. “Why don’t we go have our breakfast?” he hummed lazily as he stepped out of the tub.

“Time to see if you’re really as good as all that,” Geralt agreed. He was ravenous. “Got a towel?”

“Mhm, they’re on the rack by the door,” he hummed as he grabbed one for himself.

Geralt reached over his shoulder and plucked one, wrapping it around his hips. Now he just needed to find where he’d flung his clothes. Had he left his swords in the kitchen, or on the floor of the bedroom? He didn’t even remember when he’d taken off his boots.

Jaskier let his towel rest around his shoulders and he lead them back to his room so he could get dressed again.

Geralt found his shirt bunched up in one corner of the room by the bed. His trousers had ended up tangled under the sheets at the foot, along with one boot. He piled it all together and bent to look under the bed for the other. “Do you see my boot anywhere?” he asked.

Jaskier held up the boot he’d found by his dresser. “This one?” he hummed before tossing it towards him and picking out his clothes.

“Thanks,” Geralt said. He fumbled into his clothes, still a bit damp, and tugged on his boots. He then sat on the bed and did his best to dry his hair. “I’m going down to look for my swords,” he said. “Where should I hang my towel?”

“Just put it over the railing, I’ll meet you downstairs in a minute,” he called over his shoulder before setting out his clothes

Geralt found his swords draped over the back of his breakfast chair. He grinned at the forgotten plates, a little smug, and had a piece of cold bacon while he waited. As he sat, he thought about where me might take Jaskier to dinner. There were plenty of pubs to choose from, or maybe they’d go to an inn further uptown for something nicer. There were several options to choose from.

Jaskier appeared downstairs after a few minutes, wearing an outfit similar to the one he wore the day before, with the doublet open. “So, are you still in the mood for eggs?” he hummed as he walked in.

“Yes, thank you.” He looked Jaskier over once, admiring his clothes. “Colorful. I take it you wear doublets regularly?”

“I do,” he hummed as he added a little more wood into the stove. “I think they suit me quite well.”

“I think so, too,” Geralt agreed. “How exactly like a bard, dressing loud.”

“Sometimes it does draw the wrong kind of attention though,” he admitted lazily as he grabbed his pan.

Geralt raised a brow, finishing another bite of bacon. “From thieves?” he asked. Nice clothes made a good beacon, indicating wealth quite clearly. In the wrong circumstances, they made one a nice target.

“Sometimes, yes,” he said with a little chuckle. “I don’t carry much on me most of the time though, so it’s not a huge deal.”

“Have you been mugged?” Geralt pressed, feeling a low seething begin to rise.

“Once or twice,” he said dismissively. “It’s fine.” He added butter to the pan.

“What did they look like?” Geralt asked. He wondered if he might’ve put them away already. He often was tasked with catching highwaymen that frequented the roads in and out of the city. He’d brought in a few pairs since the start of spring.

“I don’t really remember; they were wearing red cloaks I think?” he said softly before cracking their eggs into the pan.

Geralt’s eyes narrowed. “Drache Dagger and the Dredge,” he muttered. The man targeted nobility by the roadside, tossing their bodies into the water. He and his followers were so named as it took days to dredge the bottom of rivers to find the bodies left behind. It was said that Drache had a dagger carved from a dragon’s claw and that the cloaks they wore were dyed red with its blood, but Geralt never put much stock in the stories. There weren’t many dragons left in the world, and it had been years since the last sighting. Drache was too young, too new. It was only a story made to add fear to his name. Though, there was a ring of truth to it.

“You’re lucky you’re alive,” Geralt said. “He has a thing for nobles and kills them on sight. He blames the nobility for the slaughter of dragons. Your lute is probably what saved you; he mistook your clothes for a costume and let you off.”

“Well, that’s good to hear at least,” he said with a stiff sounding chuckle. “I’m just glad it wasn’t worse then, just lost some coin and some hair.”

Geralt eyed him. "Hair?" he echoed.

“He took a trophy, I had one of those bunny tail, ponytails for a while, and he cut it off with my coin purse,” he explained.

Geralt snarled. There had never been a bounty on Drache and the Dredge—people were too afraid of retribution—though a number of nobles made their own quiet offers, so others in his profession told. He'd never himself considered trying a hand at hunting them before, but for just a moment, he reconsidered.

"Never heard of _that_ happening before," he replied.

“Well, I guess he still wanted to use his knife but didn’t want to kill me,” Jaskier said gently before flipping the eggs. He looked stiff, and uncomfortable as he spoke. He was holding his tongue a bit of course but, Geralt didn’t need to know that.

Geralt saw the strain in Jaskier's shoulders and stared. He furrowed his brow. Briefly he wondered if Jaskier meant that the Dredge had attacked him only the once or … the other _'two or three'_ as well. "How many times have you met with him?" he asked

Jaskier bit his lip slightly. “Three times?” he said gently. “I try not to think about that though. They aren’t pleasant memories,” he said before glancing back at him.

Geralt's eyes were wide. "Was he there each time?" To come across a member of his Dredge was one thing, but Drache himself …

“Yes.” He couldn’t forget the blade if he tried. “Can we just talk about something else?” he asked gently as he went to grab them plates.

Geralt felt his blood pressure rising. Drache was not one for repeat targets. "Do you travel often for your performances?" he asked, keeping his tone casual as he probed. Then, quickly, he added, "Where was your favorite venue?"

“I stay in the city mostly. I usually play at the Sturgeon or the pub we met in,” he said as he filled the new plates and walked over to give him his.

"Thank you." Geralt eyed his plate hungrily. It smelled fantastic. "What's the Sturgeon? I don't believe I've been."

“The Golden Sturgeon? It’s a smaller tavern by the docks,” he said. He sat down to eat.

"Ah, that would be why; I tend to stay away from ports. My parents are fond of travel and we come from a long line of merchants. We often travelled together when they were teaching me about trade. Where there are boats, there’s someone who might recognize us—ports are dangerous for me." He chuckled, thinking of one less serious reason. "Besides, I can't stand the stench of the fish market."

“Yes but it’s fun to play for drunk seafarers; I know far too many shanties for it not to be,” he chuckled softly.

Geralt smiled and leaned forward over his plate. "I used to sail when I was younger. What shanties do you know?"

 _“Siren song,_ _Skelligen Ale_ , _The Whore’s_ Petticoat … far too many to count if I’m honest,” he admitted.

"I always liked the Novigrad shanties best; the Grey Cliffs was my favorite."

“That one is a little solemn, but it’s pretty,” he agreed before eating a bit.

"That's why I like it; the melancholy ones sound prettiest."

“You might like the ballad I'm working on then,” he hummed. “Although it’s more bittersweet than melancholy.”

Geralt inclined his head curiously and swallowed a bite. "What's it about?" he asked.

“A lost chance at love and a new beginning?” he attempted to explain.

Geralt nodded. "I know a thing or two about that," he said. He reached a hand forward to lace his fingers comfortingly through Jaskier's. "Someone break your heart, bard?"

“Yes, but I doubt they realized I even existed before they did,” he said with a little sigh before kissing his knuckles.

"Fall for someone just before they got married?" Jaskier struck him as a romantic. He could see him falling in love with someone at their own engagement party before realizing they were the host.

“Something like that,” he said gently. He wasn’t ready to tell him the truth—not yet. He wanted to savour this.

"That's a shame. I take it you fall easy?"

He nodded a bit and took another bite of his eggs. “It’s a curse sometimes,” he admitted.

“It really is.” Geralt loaded his fork and stuffed it in his mouth with a large smile. He swallowed and breathed a satisfactory sigh. “For example, I’ve already fallen boots up for your cooking, but next time will be _my_ turn to treat, so I shouldn’t be expecting more any time soon,” he joked.

“We’ll see, besides I’m only good at making breakfast,” he teased before nudging him slightly. “So you might have to make a habit of staying the night,” he teased.

“I didn’t stay the night; I stayed the morning. We’re eating breakfast for our late lunch, and I _like_ breakfast. Proof you can make breakfast at any hour of day. But if you’re offering …” He winked before wolfing down another slice of bacon.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “To be fair, I was really just thinking about you in the past few hours, time of day was far less important,” he teased before eating a bit.

“That reminds me; how would you enjoy a night at the Golden Sturgeon with me? I believe I owe you dinner this evening. I could watch you perform awhile and we could hear if the locals have picked up any new shanties lately.”

“I would love to,” he hummed back. “I’m surprised you aren’t tired of me yet,” he teased again, as he leaned back in his chair.

Geralt chuckled, leaning forward. “I considered saying the same thing when I offered, but then you were the one who asked me to make habits. Besides, I want to talk with you awhile—get to know you outside of the bedroom before we get tangled up again. I think you’re interesting.”

Jaskier chuckled fondly at that. “You’re very sweet, Geralt, and I will talk your ear off if you’ll allow me to,” he hummed before setting aside his utensils and standing up again. “But I do want to get to know you better too.”

“Yes, I believe the whole implication behind ‘ _I_ want to talk _with_ you’ is that it goes both ways. And there’s no need to worry; I have very steady ears. They won’t be coming off so easily.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes at that. “I’ve had many one sided conversations under that pretense,” he hummed as he went to start cleaning up.

“Very well; if you think my side of the conversation is lagging, you have my permission to kick me under the table. Just a nudge to signal a stalling horse.” Geralt finished the last of his plate and followed after, laying it by the sink. “Sound fair?” he asked.

“Fair enough for me,” he chuckled before starting to wash their dishes. “Although I doubt it will come to that, especially at the Sturgeon, it’s not a quiet place.”

Geralt hummed sarcastically. “A salty seaport tavern full of drunken, brawling, swearing sailors—exactly the sort of place with quiet in need of filling.” He wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Jaskier leaned back against his chest and smiled slightly at the kiss. “Tonight might actually be one of their tournament nights,” he hummed lazily. “If that interests you?”

Geralt lifted his head. “Tournament? Would that be gwent, darts, drinking, or fighting?”

“Fighting. It’s usually quite fun to watch,” he noted as he started to dry the dishes.

“Hm. I might consider it, if conversation gets a little slow,” Geralt teased.

Jaskier gasped in mock offense. “You cruel man, as if I would bore you.”

“I could always be a little crueler if you like.” Geralt raked his teeth gently against the side of Jaskier’s neck suggestively before pulling away with a laugh.

Jaskier gasped softly and stepped on his foot. “You’re such a bastard,” he chuckled before stepping away from the sink.

Geralt gave slight grunt, more of surprise than pain really, and was glad he had such thick boots. “I really am—left home, remember? Officially a bastard, three years running.” He bowed at the waist with a playful grin.

“Well, you’re my favorite bastard then,” he teased before starting to close up his doublet. “A Professional Bastard and a royal disappointment, we are quite the pair.”

“Oh? Are we a pair?” Geralt asked, hooking a finger through the opening of Jaskier’s doublet. “You move quickly, don’t you?”

“You were the one talking about claiming every part of me last night,” he teased lazily. “Remember?”

Geralt cleared his throat and withdrew his finger. “Well, you say things when you get caught up in the moment that might not be so appropriate in daylight,” he said. There was a bit of pink in his cheeks.

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, darling,” he hummed before kissing his cheek. “I quite liked the idea,” he reminded him before walking off to find his boots.

Geralt’s heart gave a little flutter at that. He sank back down in his chair to wait, the sweet name echoing in his memory as he did. Well, as the name implies, an earl was the type to rush into things _early_. He chuckled silently.

Jaskier returned a minute or so later, and leaned on the back of his chair. “Do you want to go now, or kill a little time first?”

“How would we kill time?” Geralt asked, intrigued.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” he hummed.

Geralt licked his lips, but decided there’d be time for such thoughts later. “Tempting, but I’m afraid I’ve left Roach alone too long. She’ll be upset with me if I don’t make an appearance soon.”

“Oh? Wait, can I tag along? I’m desperate to meet this darling horse,” he asked hopefully.

Geralt smiled. “Did I not say I wished you to walk me home?” He stood up, shouldered his swords, and offered Jaskier the crook of his arm.

Jaskier took up his arm and leaned against him slightly. “I suppose I forgot,” he hummed as he lead them out, and locked the door behind them.

As they walked, Geralt talked about his horse enthusiastically. It was evident how much he truly loved her. He described more than one situation where her cleverness had helped him track down one criminal or other, or else had pulled him up from a slippery bank, or kept him from stupidly poisoning himself by eating some berries wrongly foraged.

“She’s a clever horse; I would swear there’s magic in her if I didn’t know better. You’ll see for yourself when you meet her. She was even trained to bow! That is, she _will_ bow if _she_ deems it proper, and her opinion on who is worthy of a bow and by what criteria they’re measured seems to change with the wind. She may only nod when you say hello. I’m told it has something to do with the way peers dress, but I’ve no way of knowing for sure. I wasn’t home long enough to test the validity of the claim.”

Jaskier couldn’t help his grin. Geralt had appeared to be a serious man when he met him, but it was clear now that it was at least partially a facade. He was very sweet, and enthusiastic, and bold. It seemed like every time he got some hold on the man he peeled back another layer. He was perfect, and beautiful.

“Does she bow to you?” Jaskier asked hopefully. “Or is she too proud for that?”

“Only if I bow first. She’s outranked me from birth.” Geralt laughed, but it was more than true. When the engagement was announced and the betrothal gifts brought, he’d had to sit through a long speech all about his horse and her fine breeding, her training, and all the rest. Evidently, the breeder supplied the steeds to the highest ranking peers. It was meant to be an impressive gift, and so it had been, but not for the material worth of her. Geralt found a companion in her, and that was worth much more.

“Really? She’s a well bred mare I assume,” Jaskier chuckled softly, leaning against him while they walked.

“Or she thinks highly of herself. I may hold the reins, but she has the final say in whether or not we go anywhere.” Geralt snaked his free hand over Jaskier’s arm, enjoying the closeness. Oh, how he hoped Roach would be polite for him.

“Well, she certainly sounds like most well-bred people I know,” Jaskier couldn’t help but tease. “So why did you name her Roach?”

“That was the first fish I caught the day I ran. It was the first meal I prepared for myself in its entirety. I was proud of myself as I’d managed to spear it with my sword after a half hour of struggle in the river, and I was looking forward to it when she came along the moment my back was turned and gobbled it up herself. So Roach it was. To this day she’ll steal any fish left unattended.”

Jaskier chuckled at that. He was certainly going to be meeting an interesting creature indeed. “I’ve never heard of a fish-eating horse, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” he chuckled softly.

“It scared the hell out of me. I’ve heard of horses eating meat, but never encountered it myself. Then, she _is_ an unusual horse; I can’t know if her odd behaviours belong to her alone or to all horses. I’ve never tried to feed a horse meat before.”

“And you shouldn’t, but you know that,” he chuckled. “How far away is the stable you keep her in?” he asked as they continued along.

“Not a stable; a barn. As I said, I sleep poorly in the city. It’s a bit of a walk, but I think you’ll appreciate it nonetheless when we arrive. My landlord’s farm is very picturesque—except the barn itself. The roof collapsed last winter and most of my rent is paid in repairing it during my stay.”

Jaskier nodded a bit. “Aren’t you cold at night?” he asked gently, a tinge of concern in his voice. “I would hate for you to get sick.”

Geralt smiled softly. “It’s perfectly warm. I have a nice stove in the loft and plenty of blankets. The loft makes a fine room, really, and I’ve mostly finished closing the hole. Besides,” he added cheerfully, “it’s summer. I won’t have to worry for a couple months, and I should be finished by then.” He gave Jaskier’s arm a reassuring pat.

Jaskier kissed his cheek gently, and smiled back at him. “I’d love to see your handiwork,” he hummed. “Most men like us aren’t trained to do work like that,” he chuckled.

“It’s decent, but a true carpenter would probably give me an earful,” Geralt chuckled nervously. He’d picked it up during his first year before becoming a bounty hunter, taking whatever work people would give him. Though he didn’t personally know much about manual labor, he was quick and observant, and he learned by watching others.

Jaskier nodded a bit and grinned. “Well, I’m certain it’s far better than any other lord’s son could have done,” he hummed.

“Flatterer. Now come on, we’re nearly at the city gate. It’s only a few minutes from there.”

He rolled his eyes at that, “I was trained to be a politician, it’s my job,” he teased before dutifully keeping pace with him as they walked along.

As they passed through the gate, Geralt pointed to a landscape in the distance. “There,” he said. “Over that hill is the barn, and you can see the view of the farm from the top. There’s a duck pond on the property, and an orchard. My landlord grows pears and they keep bees between the rows, and in the fields they grow most of the grain the city uses to produce ale. It’s an expansive property. I’ve seen painters come to sit on the hill to do their landscapes. One of them hangs above the fireplace at the Red Pear Inn, and the tree in their courtyard was a gift from the farmer’s great grandfather. I believe the innkeeper was married to his sister. It has an important history with the rest of the city.”

Geralt spoke proudly, as if he had a claim on the history himself. In a way, he thought he did.

Jaskier chuckled at that slightly. The man almost seemed to glow while he spoke, he was clearly excited about his prowess and even more so about showing it off. Jaskier was enamored by the man, and found himself hanging on every word, really. It was almost embarrassing, he fell in love quickly, but falling so deep was new.

“You’re rather fond of this place aren’t you?” he hummed.

Geralt nodded, still looking toward the hill. “I am. It’s only a little thing, a roof. But … it feels good to be part of something … even for a little while.” His smile faltered just the slightest, became smaller as he was reminded of how much good he’d once had the opportunity to do. One day, he’d have to leave this place. He’d have to say goodbye to his wonderful refuge.

Geralt lowered his arms and let Jaskier’s hold on his elbow slide away. Instead, he laced their fingers together and lead him down the road. “Come on, I want to show this to you,” he said. The lazy afternoon sun made the skies so blue, and great white clouds floated on high, casting cool shadows over the land. It would be a good day for a painting.

The sky never looked as big as it truly was within the city walls, but here, it sprawled on endlessly. He leaned against Geralt’s side slightly and grinned. “I’m coming,” he teased softly.

Just before they crested the hill, Geralt covered Jaskier’s eyes with his free hand. “Wait,” he said. “There’s a big cloud passing over the pond now. Give it a moment to pass before you look. I think you’re going to enjoy this.”

Jaskier played his hands over Geralt’s and waited. “Alright darling, I’ll humour you,” He chuckled softly.

“Quite the contrary; I think I’ll be the one humouring _you.”_ A moment passed and then Geralt asked, “Are you ready?”

“Mhm, show me,” he said with excitement bleeding into his voice.

Geralt pulled his hands away.

The openness of the sky was made all the more impossible from their vantage point. It was so wide and blue, it felt like it would swallow them up. There below was the barn, a brown horse grazing inside the fence. Beyond that lay the little pond with its ducks and geese swimming about. Further sat the farmer’s house, and the orchard beyond, its many trees swaying in the warm summer air, leaves shining like ripples on the pond. The fields were farthest, the stalks still green and young. The wind blew over their heads, rolling like a great green ocean. The distance was dotted with other farms, their fences, houses, and barns no bigger than the tiny seeds of grain that grew on their property.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide and he grabbed Geralt’s hand tightly. It looked like an expertly woven tapestry, or an oil painting done by a master. It was serene, and truly breathtaking.

“Oh it’s beautiful...” he said softly, clearly awestruck. “I can’t believe I’ve never really seen it before.”

Geralt leaned against him, a proud smile on his lips. “The city has many gates; most people pay more attention to those in the east where the trade routes and well-maintained roads cut through the land.” He pointed to the horizon. “That’s where the land finally meets with the coast. Sometimes you can see the ships from here on their way in and out of the port. There are some mills within a day’s ride as well. It’s hard to see with the curve of the land, but they have some nice beaches, if a bit rocky.”

“Maybe we’ll go swimming when it gets a bit warmer then?” Jaskier offered, grinning up at him as if Geralt had woven the scene before him by hand. “Oh, I really just want to explore all of this,” he said warmly.

“We’ve got plenty of time.” Geralt took a deep breath as the wind stirred around them. “It feels very free here, doesn’t it?”

“It’s just, open, vast and golden,” he said warmly. “Why don’t we go see the farm you’re living on?” he offered.

Geralt nudged him and pointed. “That’s Roach there,” he said. Then he was tugging Jaskier down the other side of the hill toward the barn.

Jaskier laughed softly and hurried along with him, “Well, then I’m eager to meet her,” he giggled, words seeming to bubble up from him with joy spurring them onwards.

Roach’s ears perked up as the racket approached the barn. Geralt saw her raise her head to look at them. Her tail gave a curious flick to see him return accompanied. However, she did not trot to the fence to meet him, clearly put out that he had not returned in the evening to brush her as was their ritual. Geralt laughed when they came on level ground. “She’s mad at me,” he said, chuckling.

“What for?” Jaskier hummed as he leaned on the fence and looked over at the mare in the field. “Didn’t give her enough treats? Failed to thoroughly clean her tack?” he teased.

“I left her alone all night and didn’t brush her. She’s spoiled,” Geralt replied.

Roach snorted as if she knew exactly what Geralt had just accused her of. Clever horse indeed.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that, and smiled up at Geralt fondly. “To be fair, we all spoil at least one part of ourselves.”

Geralt whistled and beckoned Roach over. “Come, girl. You’re being rude and there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Roach shook her mane at him, but slowly, she stepped forward.

“This is Jaskier,” Geralt said.

Jaskier grinned and gingerly reached a hand forwards towards the horse. “Hello Roach, it’s a pleasure,” he said warmly.

Roach turned her head to the side to get a proper look at him as she sniffed his hand. Then, much to Geralt’s surprise, she backed away. She stood a few feet off and pawed at the ground, then, she took a knee, one foot extended, and lowered her head in a bow.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered, astonished. _Good girl, Roach_. That was sure to get him a few points.

Jaskier grinned and pulled a sugar cube from his pocket, offering it out to the horse. “Aren’t you sweet? Such a polite girl,” he hummed.

Roach stood and took the offering greedily, snatching it and then stepping back out of reach. She was a well-mannered lady, but she still played coy.

“When did you pocket that?” Geralt asked. His heart warmed at the very idea that Jaskier had come prepared to win over Roach.

“When I went to get my boots I put it in my pocket,” he chuckled with a faint blush. “I figured it might be good to bring something extra in case she needed convincing.”

Geralt beamed. He laughed and caught Jaskier up in his arms, pulling him into a kiss. Roach returned to nudge at his head, but Geralt only laughed against Jaskier’s lips and pushed her muzzle away. “Not now, girl,” he murmured, trying not to giggle.

Jaskier held onto him tightly and kissed him back. He felt like he was floating, like he was walking amongst those absurdly fluffy clouds and ocean sky. Jaskier giggled for him, and his grin was unshakable.

Roach started to tug on Geralt’s hair and he grunted, holding his arms up in surrender. “Alright, alright! Let go before you tear the skin from my scalp, fuck!” Geralt rubbed his head and patted her cheek to assure her he was coming. “Sorry, I think she’s acting out of jealousy. I didn’t give her a proper hello and here I am, kissing you right in front of her.”

Geralt climbed over the fence and offered Jaskier a hand. “Want to come in, take a look around? I’ve got to brush her or else she’ll never let up.”

“I’d love to.” He took his hand and moved over the fence with him. He stumbled a bit once he hit the dirt on the other side, and fell into Geralt’s chest.

Geralt chuckled as he caught him. "Can't keep your hands off me for an hour, can you?" he teased, tilting Jaskier's chin up.

Jaskier kissed him gently. “I guess not darling,” he teased before stepping away a bit.

Geralt lead the way into the bard. "Thankfully there aren't any animals housed here at the moment. It shouldn't smell too musty." He raised a hand and gestured up to a ladder." That's the loft where I stay."

“Do you mind if I go up?” he asked with a little smile. “So I can look around a bit?”

“Help yourself. I’m just going to fetch Roach’s brush.”

Jaskier nodded and quickly climbed into the loft.

The loft was a tidy space. There was a bed to the right, pushed up against one corner. A few crates had been overturned and an old door placed on top, repurposed into a low table. In the center sat a metal stove and a basket of wood beside it. There were a few woven mats and some blankets folded up in front, and some straw cushions for sitting. The loft was warm and comfortable, and smelled a bit like old hay. None too musty, though there was a trace of it left behind.

“It’s cozier than I imagined,” Jaskier called down to him as he took a seat on one of the cushions. He had hoped for better for his companion but … beggars can’t be choosers.

Geralt peeked up from the ladder and grinned cheekily, his arms crossed on the floor. “What, did you think I lived in a hovel?” he teased. “It’s pretty sparse, but I have everything I need. Besides, I don’t spend much of my time here.”

“You did tell me you lived in a barn, my expectations were low, Geralt,” he teased back at him.

Geralt crawled up the rest of the way and went to hang his swords on a hook on the wall. “Glad to have surpassed them.” He then flopped down on the floor in front of Jaskier and lay down with his head in his lap. “Ah, a cozy new addition to the furniture. Very comfortable.”

Jaskier smiled down at him for a moment before starting to play with his hair. “This just has my thoughts roaming to far off, impossible places,” he said warmly.

“What kind of far off, impossible places? Conjuring up romantic stories, bard?” Geralt closed his eyes and rested his hands on his chest. He’d managed to bribe Roach with a couple pears into waiting for her grooming. He could spare a little time. “Tell me about them. What makes them so impossible?”

“I shouldn’t have to answer that,” he teased lazily before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Fantasies of living out in a beautiful place like this, living for what I love, who I love. Things that are unrealistic in far too many ways to count.”

Before he could pull away too far, Geralt took his face in hand. He opened his eyes, looking up at him. “Don’t talk about sad things with a smile, Jaskier. Please,” he begged earnestly.

“Dreams aren’t sad Geralt,” he said gently. “Bittersweet maybe, but not sad. They’re pretty things to look at, that’s all.”

“They shouldn’t have to be,” Geralt stubbornly replied. But he let Jaskier go. Again, he closed his eyes, through now his brow remained furrowed. Who dreamed better than a bard? Who knew of love and longing more thoroughly? They were travellers and storytellers who wove the history of the world and its truths into poetry, and they best of all were meant for freedom. And there was one part of what he’d said that stuck.

“ … Is that unrealistic for you?” he asked. “To live for who you love?”

Jaskier paused for a moment and combed his fingers through Geralt’s hair. “In the long term … yes,” he said softly. “I’m betrothed in writing, but nothing has come of that yet.” That was a lie really, that betrothal was set on far more than paper, and it had almost gone through cleanly … but that didn’t matter much now.

A weight sat heavy in Geralt’s chest and he dare not open his eyes. He tried to keep his breath shallow, regular. Of course. Every peer and their cousin was tied up in some arrangement or other, all of them objects in a trade. But seeing Jaskier out in the world, living on his own … he’d had hope that perhaps such things had passed him over; that perhaps he was one of many children, one number that might be overlooked, but Jaskier had already told him the opposite; he was another only child.

His throat was tight, but the words came through airily. “Well, maybe nothing _will_ come of it. You never know what the future holds,” he said. “Maybe your fiancé will run off somewhere, or die at the hands of our good friend Drache.” Jaskier hadn’t sounded too happy about the situation, so he held no qualms about saying such things.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that but there wasn’t any feeling in it. “Maybe, but let’s just move on?” he said gently.

Drache and his fiancé, what a hellish mix of topics. Two men he wanted to vanish from this world and let him go. He didn’t long for freedom like Geralt, that was clear, but that didn’t leave him happy in his complacency either. It simply was, and Jaskier would endure it.

Geralt sat upright and did his best to smile. “How about we brush Roach and take a ride? By the time we finish, it’ll be about time for dinner.”

“I’d love to,” Jaskier said with a little smile. “Can she carry us both?” he asked after kissing Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt did smile then. It was hard to frown with Jaskier’s affection at the forefront. “She couldn’t carry us around all day, but she’ll be fine for a good ride. If you help brush her, you’re sure to get in her good graces.”

He stood and offered Jaskier a hand before the two of them headed for the ladder. Geralt looked briefly over his shoulder at his swords and hesitated.

Jaskier caught his look. “Maybe just a knife? The swords would be a little much for the bar,” he said as he took his hand and walked to the ladder.

Geralt hummed indecisively. He had a knife on him of course, but he still worried. The bar would be rowdy—who knew _how_ rowdy. But he trusted himself to hold his own without them, and Jaskier needed to get out in the open air, to be distracted for a while. So he relented and climbed down the ladder.

Down below, he fetched a pair of brushes and Roach came trotting up eagerly. He passed a brush to Jaskier and demonstrated how to do it the way she liked. As they brushed, he asked where Jaskier might like to go first.

“We can go through the orchard if you like, or out into the fields. I can take you to a spot where you can see the coast better, but we’ll have to save visiting the beaches for another day. It’d be too cold by the time we made it there.”

Jaskier thought about it for a moment while he brushed. “Why don’t we go to the orchard today? If we go to the beach I’d want to make more of a day of it,” he said as he looked over at Geralt.

“I think Roach would enjoy that; she likes to eat the pears that fall.” Geralt smiled secretively to himself, hidden by Roach’s neck. With another stroke, he added, “I know one part of the orchard in particular that you might find surprising.”

“Hmm, what could be surprising about an orchard?” he wondered aloud as he brushed. “Well, besides finding an impossibly sweet bounty hunter and his bard there.”

“You’ll see in a minute.”

When Roach’s coat was sufficiently shiny, Geralt collected the brushes and set them aside to fetch her saddle. He strapped it on and gave Roach a thankful pat before climbing onto her back. Then, he turned to Jaskier and offered him a hand. “Ready to go?”

Jaskier took it and helped himself into the saddle in front of him. “As ready as I will ever be,” he hummed as he leaned back against him.

“Most people say that when they’re expecting something bad,” Geralt replied. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier to take the reins. With a light nudge, Roach started forward and out the open gate.

“So? You understood what I meant,” he teased before grabbing the front of the saddle to steady himself.

“Do you ride?” Geralt asked.

“A bit, but not recently,” he admitted

“I spend much of my free time in the saddle. After taking a few jobs, I like to get out into the country awhile, just Roach and I. However, I usually end up walking at her side most of the way when we go. I try not to overwork her.”

Geralt leaned forward to pat her neck. “She and I have been exploring the land around this city since we arrived at the end of winter. I’ve watched the land wake up in spring and grow warm in the summer. I’m looking forward to the fall when the rest of the pears come and I can watch the landscape change colors. I’ve seen many paintings of it in fall and winter, hung in different places around town, and it makes me want to ride to every location and see for myself.”

Jaskier listened along intently and glanced over his shoulder to smile up at him slightly. “Maybe one of these days you’ll give me the full tour of these farms then?”

He loved hearing Geralt speak about things like this, it was incredibly clear just how much he cared about the topic, and Jaskier swore he could hear the smile in his voice in every word.

Geralt returned his smile and nodded before looking forward again. “I’ve only been to a few of the closest ones so far, so we can explore the others together. When I want to ask after the history of the farms, I usually bring some gift along.”

The tree line of the orchard was getting closer, all its green glory awaiting. Roach resumed walking at a more leisurely place, apparently accustomed to slowing among the trees: a habit born from Geralt’s dawdling, appreciative rides in past.

“I set aside part of my earnings specifically for the purpose,” Geralt continued. “I usually offer a fresh bag of tea, or something from the market that can be shared. Caramels will buy a long hour of conversation, and the farmers nearly always ask me to join for the first cup of tea. The system works wonderfully—especially if I catch one of the older residents. They love to talk as long as you let them, and they know the land best. Sometimes they send me off with recipes or bits of poetry, more often than not some produce growing in their house garden, then there are flowers, buttons, old mementos … I’ve got a collection in a box someone gave to me for listening to her talk about woodcarving.”

“You’ll have to show me that box of treasures at some point,” he teased as he looked back at him. “Or you might just have to bring me along next time.”

Truth be told Jaskier loved hearing people’s stories. He was fascinated by their experiences, by the lives they’d woven for themselves. It was why he loved entertaining: he got to share part of himself in exchange for being part of that beautiful tapestry of someone else’s life.

“Hmm,” Geralt hummed. “Beach trips, farm visits, nights at the pub … only a day together and we’ve got quite enough for a full week of activity already. Imagine the plans we’ll make at the _end_ of the week.” And he actually laughed. Not a chuckle, not a half giggle, but a true peal of deep, hearty laughter.

Jaskier felt like his heart was going to jump out of his chest. He knew at that point that he was never going to hear enough of that sound. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t love it,” he teased back.

“Never said I wouldn’t. I’m glad to have so much to look forward to, and to have someone else to share it with besides Roach. She’s a good listener, but our conversations tend to be more one-sided despite my best efforts.”

“Understandable, although even if she isn’t all that talkative, she does seem to have quite a few opinions,” Jaskier hummed, as he remembered just how jealous that horse got.

“And she’ll let you know it.” Geralt was still impressed she’d bowed for Jaskier. But then, she _was_ a clever horse; perhaps she knew how much he’d wanted to impress him. He was grateful to her for being so polite, even if it lasted all of thirty seconds.

Roach flicked her ears back at them once more to confirm the point.

Geralt chuckled. They were coming upon a change now in the orchard. The green gave way to white, leaves halted by a section of blooming pear blossom that had no business blooming in the late summer.

“This is it,” Geralt said. “It’s only a few rows, but these trees were an elf gift from generations past. One row of ten trees each for the other three seasons. While it may be summer everywhere else in the orchard, here we can find spring, autumn, and winter. These trees have been here since before the city was first erected.

“The story is different depending on who you ask, but I’ve become familiar with one version. Therein a sailor saved an elven prince from drowning along the coast, and the elf rewarded him with the seasons he would not have lived to see otherwise, so that when his death should come, the sailor might not know longing for them. In other stories it’s a princess and the trees are a wedding gift so they would always prosper with pears any time of year.

“That’s why these orchards are so important to the city, intrinsically tied to its history and economy. The cider made from the elven trees is _particularly_ potent. The rest of the trees are offspring of the original, and though they aren’t as magic, you’ll never find a more delicious pear on the Continent,” he concluded.

Jaskier's eyes went wide at the sight, he'd heard talk of the pears before, but he had never heard the full story, nor anything about the rows that existed outside the season. It was a miracle, truly, the kind he could easily find a way to sing about.

“This is incredible,” he said breathlessly before turning to look back at Geralt with an awestruck smile. “I’ll have to try some of those pears at some point, the cider is fantastic so I can only imagine what the fruit must be like.” If the fruit was half as sweet as the way Geralt seemed when he talked about this place, they would be more candy than fruit.

“Why not _now?”_ Geralt asked. He steered Roach to the row of autumn and stood high in the saddle, reaching up for the nearest hanging fruit. He plucked two from it and held one out to Jaskier, grinning like a mischievous child robbing his neighbor on the way to school.

"Are we allowed to?" Jaskier asked as he took one of the pears from him. "I don't like that look in your eyes."

Without a word, Geralt took a large bite of the elven fruit. Jaskier watched with horror as the juice dribbled down his chin.

"Geralt there are at least five cautionary ballads about not eating stolen magic fruits," Jaskier said wide eyed.

Geralt wiped his mouth with his sleeve and laughed. “They can’t be sold,” he said, taking another bite. He tossed the rest of his pear to Roach who gobbled it greedily. “These trees were a gift, and to sell a gift would be rude, therefore misfortune falls on any head who would deign to sell a single one of these pears. The rest of the orchard is fair game since the magic is weaker and they’re merely the products of the gift, not the gift itself. The pears are free to all who come to visit, just as life is free to be lived.”

Geralt had a sweet, gentle smile that reflected a lightness of heart. It was a story he quite obviously cherished. “First time visitors normally take the first bite, but I couldn’t resist having a little fun.”

Jaskier pouted up at him for a moment before taking a bite of his pear. He couldn't help the little pleased sound that escaped him; it was sinfully sweet and flavorful. It was fantastic. "They taste like magic." he hummed.

“Really? Mine didn’t taste so magical. Let me see.” Geralt leaned forward and turned Jaskier’s head to give him a kiss. He lingered a moment, then licked his lips and hummed. “I see now. You’re right; that _did_ taste like magic.”

Jaskier grinned back at him as he pulled away. "Oh I guess it’s just me then," he teased before taking another bite of the pear.

“I would say so.”

Geralt nudged Roach on to explore the other rows. They went through to winter first; he intended to visit spring on their way back to the city gate. The branches of the trees here were heavy with snow, though none fell from any source. The light was less warm and the sky looked more grey, such was the effect of the elf prince’s gift. It truly was a place snatched out of time.

Jaskier reached out to run his fingers through the snow as they walked along the row of trees. “It’s incredible spell work,” he said warmly before shaking the snow from his hand.

“There’s nowhere else like it in all the Continent.” Geralt was glad he’d found this place. If he could, he’d like to stay always. He would try for as long as possible. The list of reasons why just kept growing and growing every day, and today, there was another addition. They stayed a minute to take it in, then Geralt gave a tug on the reins and Roach turned round to head back, taking the time to meander through spring on the way.

Jaskier grinned as he looked up at the pear blooms. “Can you stop darling?” he hummed as he glanced back at him. “I want to take it in for a moment.”

Geralt gave the reins a tug and Roach obediently came to a halt.

Jaskier grabbed the front of the saddle as he reached over to pick a bloom. He sniffed it for a moment before turning around and tucking the flower behind Geralt’s ear.

Geralt blinked in surprise. He reached up to feel the flower—a small thing, really—a little awed at the gesture. “ … Thank you,” he said.

Jaskier kissed his cheek on the other side. “You’re welcome darling,” he hummed before turning back around and leaning into his chest.

When he started Roach once more back to the gate, Geralt snaked one arm around Jaskier’s waist. To keep him steady, of course. The afternoon was wearing on into evening when they arrived and entered the city. As they started to clop along familiar cobbled road, Geralt handed Jaskier the reins. “I’ve never been to the docks, so you’ll have to lead the way,” he said. "Just don't get overzealous or Roach might stop in the middle of the street."

"I have a gentle hand," he assured him as he started to steer them towards the docks. "She's fine with loud noises, right? I wouldn't want to spook the poor girl." They approached a decent sized building on the outskirts of the docklands.

“She’s well trained. She won’t startle. And besides, we’ve dealt with plenty of rowdy backwater taverns in our day, in seedier places than this.”

Geralt tilted his head up at the building, observing the sign that swung from a post in its side. The post itself was comprised of a metal plate in the shape of a fish with a point jutting out of its face, rather like a swordfish with the tip sanded down a few inches. On a chain beneath it hung a wooden sign that read ‘The Golden Sturgeon’ in sealed, burnt letters. Inside, he could already hear the boisterous barmates making an uproar. The energy was contagious.

Jaskier quickly moved from Roach's back and waited for Geralt a few feet away. "Come on then, it's already getting late, especially if you want to enter the tournament tonight."

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Geralt chided. He swung over the side of the saddle and stepped down from the stirrup before tying Roach to a post. There were other horses outside of the establishment: work horses to help haul loads on and off the ships. He gave Roach an encouraging pat and told her to mind herself while they were inside. “Maybe you’ll talk to _them_ while I’m gone,” he joked.

Roach eyed the other horses with indifference.

Jaskier took Geralt's hand once Roach was all set. "Most of the tables are probably taken already, so we should hurry if we want to attempt to get a seat for the night," he insisted as he pulled Geralt inside with him.

It was loud. It was crowded. It was _exciting_. Geralt looked around at the tavern in full swing. Men crowded each other in tables, swapping stories and drinks in the lamp light. A few barmaids bustled back and forth, carrying drinks and food to the rowdy patrons. In the middle of the floor, just about the only place that wasn’t overrun with sailors and locals, was an empty circle, lined with a sandy ring of tile in the wood.

Geralt nodded towards it. “Is that the dance floor?” he asked. It looked about the right size for a fighting ring, perhaps on the small side.

“Some people do call it that, but it’s where fights are held,” he said with a little smile. “Let’s get a seat at the bar and you can sign up if you’re still interested.”

Jaskier had been right about the tables earlier, and they had simply come in too late to find one that wasn’t already full, but the bard didn’t seem too bothered by it.

“Do they take late signers or is this a tier-based fight? I might be good for one fight, maybe two, but a whole tournament would be cumbersome.” He slipped onto the seat beside Jaskier, leaning back on the bar to watch the room. “It might be fun to watch for a while, but we both know that isn’t why I came tonight,” he said, winking at him.

“Usually you get to choose if you want to take place in the tiered competition or one of the side fights they use to fill time between rounds,” he explained before ordering them both a drink. “So you’ll probably just stick with the side fights then.”

“I would’ve thought the _main_ fight was a way to pass time _between rounds_ ,” he joked, lifting the mug presented to him. He chuckled.

Jaskier rolled his eyes at the comment before raising his own tankard to Geralt slightly. “Anyways, it’s up to you if you’re up to it, but, I’ll have fun either way,” he said warmly

“I think I’ll watch a few rounds before I make up my mind—get familiar with the house rules.” Geralt clunked their drinks together before taking his first sip, turning back to Jaskier to wait for the ensuing fights. “So. No lute. No busking. No charming another date with your siren song. Am I to understand I have your full attention tonight?”

Jaskier chuckled fondly at that. “You had my full attention the last time too,” he teased before taking a sip of his drink. “But yes, you do, I’m all yours for the night.

“Lucky me,” Geralt said with a grin. “So regale me. I want to hear some of your history. You don’t have to go into the specifics, but we never did discuss how you became a bard. We studied it in Oxenfurt, but what got you interested in music? Tell me some of your exploits.”

“Well, I’ve always loved music. I grew up singing mostly, but when I was ten my parents let me begin lute lessons.” He set down his tankard and ran his fingers along the rim while he spoke. “I guess I found myself invested more and more in the stories bards carried as they traveled. Their own and those of others. They know the land’s heart the way most only dream of. You can feel the story more completely in music in my opinion and I guess in the end that was what drew me into it. That feeling.”

“I have a feeling you’re going to like joining me on my interviews,” Geralt said. Jaskier’s words resonated with him, aligned with his own fascination for his land. He must know such a lot of stories, as a bard. “Any favorites?”

“I couldn’t choose, they all have their own charm to them,” Jaskier said with a warm little smile. “I do have a preference for ballads though.”

Geralt rested, hand on cheek, braced against the bar. “It’s a shame we didn’t bring your lute with us; I would’ve asked you to sing one for me.” Granted, it wasn’t the right atmosphere for a ballad, but the other guests were easy to ignore when Jaskier was the focus of his attention. “Have you travelled much outside of the kingdom? Where have you been, and what kinds of stories did they tell there?”

“I’ve traveled quite a bit. I hail from Lyria so I’m already quite a ways away from home. Besides Redania though, I’ve spent some time in Nilfgaard which is an interesting place when you’re accustomed to the north. There’s far more pomp and circumstance, but I found that many of the other foreigners there had incredible stories to tell. I met a Skelligen man there whose story still sticks with me. He traveled so far in an attempt to find his child after he’d fled the islands. He could hardly forgive himself for chasing his son out of their homeland in the first place, it was terribly sad.”

Geralt was surprised by the mention of Lyria, neighbor to his own kingdom of origin. They were small territories, not boasting of great networks of nobility. It occurred to him that Jaskier, being noble, likely ran in similar circles. To what family did he belong? What was his rank? Geralt’s title was middling, but respectable. If Jaskier’s rank was lower than that of an Earl, he might make a better marriage candidate than whatever arrangements had been made.

He sighed. A pipe dream. To have any claim on his title would mean returning home, and there he was not free to make such offers. And to deny an arrangement as he had to a man of such high rank as a duke, only to propose to someone of lower birth—and after taking the _horse_ … well, the next time anyone posted a job under his name, ‘alive’ would not be found in the description.

Geralt took a long draw from his mug, glaring off to the side. “I never spent much time in Lyria, personally. They’ve got nice horses there, good metalworks, and plenty of writers of note, but you wouldn’t catch me dead within its borders,” he grumbled.

“A true Rivian then?” Jaskier teased with a little chuckle. “That rivalry is old and weathered at this point, but whenever I end up in Rivia I always come across someone with a long standing grudge.”

It seemed that the territory might have a runaway problem, now that he thought about it, many of their men seemed eager to run from fate.

Geralt scoffed. “It isn’t so much the kingdom itself as the nobility. That’s where all the conflict stems from. I wish I was common born, then I could have only opinions based on how their politics affected our economy, rather than our social standing and romantic happiness. I could speak in that detached way of theirs about the court gossip; the only difference is, I could be tarred and feathered for having the wrong opinions on certain people. But I suppose even the gentry have their politics. A mayor’s daughter would be raised to marry upward, or a farmer’s son would marry his neighbor so they might join farms. I don’t suppose one can escape such things regardless of rank.”

How he admired the resolve of lonely hermits.

“I suppose that’s true of most places, and as you said, a commoner’s freedom is limited as well, though it’s limited differently,” he sighed softly before taking a drink and looking out across the crowd.

He caught sight of an all too familiar cloak and the chuckle that reached his ears made his blood run cold. He moved ever so slightly closer to Geralt before setting aside his tankard. “Why don’t we think about going home soon?” he said softly, most of the playfulness in his tone was completely lost and unease was settling in.

“But I thought I owed you dinner,” Geralt replied. He chuckled. “Are you that eager to have another … ” But the joke died on his tongue. He saw the way Jaskier tensed. Reaching out, he placed a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Jaskier settled slightly at the touch. “They’re here tonight,” he said softly before motioning subtly to the men in the corner. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Geralt turned in his stool, trying to see who Jaskier was looking at in the crowd. Then he spotted them. A group of men in rough, red cloaks. In the midst of the group he spotted the long black hair of their leader, laying like a tail down his back. It was Drache, laughing at something or other, a hand raised to gesture for the barmaid. The movement caught Geralt’s eye, and what he saw next made his blood boil. Tied to the man’s wrist was a braid of thick brown hair, woven with blue ribbon. He was on his feet in an instant.

Geralt stormed up to Drache and his Dredge. He didn’t have his swords, but at that moment, he was convinced he wouldn’t need them to rend the man’s head from his shoulders. With a silvery flash, he swiped the knife from his boot.

Drache was not one for repeat targets.

Jaskier cried out before he could properly think about it, and raced over to grab his arm. “Geralt! Just leave it be, please?” he insisted as he tried to hold him back. His heart was racing and his eyes were wild with fear. He was clearly trying to put on a brave face but he didn’t feel anything but fear.

As soon as they saw the knife, several patrons in the establishment leapt to action at once to pull Geralt away and disarm him. The bar was run by bandit’s code, where even the most hated rivals might sit peacefully at the same table. Drache was startled at the sudden action, then he caught Geralt’s glare directly across, saw the way Jaskier clung to his arm, and made the connection. He watched with smug satisfaction as Geralt continued to struggle forward. Impressively, Geralt was able to knock a few men aside, but he was overpowered the next moment by sheer numbers.

“I believe I know you,” Drache said. He looked at Geralt’s hair, looked at his black clothes, and assessed him. “You’re the one they call the White Wolf. I wonder how fitting the title really is, considering how you hunt without a pack—not such a wise choice, really. You’ve taken bounties in my home territory that might’ve gone to a number of my men, and I was almost inclined to tell you off when you left my city. I was wondering when you might make a nuisance of yourself again.” He inclined his head to look greedily at Jaskier. “Got yourself a bodyguard, little flower? A sensible decision. Quite overdue.”

Jaskier tucked himself further behind Geralt and glanced away from him. “Listen, we’ll leave you be if you pay us the same courtesy; I’m not looking to start any trouble,” he said softly. There was no fight in his voice, just resignation, and barely hidden fear. “Please, it’s not worth the time for either of you to fight over this.”

“What’s there to fight over? I’m not fighting; I’m enjoying my dinner. The show is a welcome surprise. How about a song, bard? It’s been so long since I heard that lovely voice of yours. How about a few verses of _The Whore’s Petticoat?_ Or how about that bawdy tale of the lad who kneels in _Aedirn Alley?_ _Fishmonger’s Daughter_ , perhaps?”

“Don’t talk to him,” Geralt snarled. “I’ll rip out your tongue and feed it to the fish in the harbor if you say another word.”

“With what knife?” Drache countered. He laughed. Had he not just seen the proprietor come forth to wrestle it from his hands? The knife was now safely tucked away behind the bar, out of reach. Nothing but an empty threat.

Voice dripping with venom, Geralt lifted his chin, eyes narrowed threateningly. “Who said I’d be using a knife?”

“Geralt please let’s just go,” Jaskier insisted once more. He was close to just going on his own at that point, Drache was the one person that knocked all the wind out of Jaskier’s sails. He lost all confidence and pride, and the way the man wore Jaskier’s shame on his wrist made him feel sick.

It wasn’t fair, everything seemed to come with a price too high to pay. Love in exchange for others struggling. Pride but loss of feeling. He couldn’t give himself up like that.

Geralt leaned back slowly, relaxing his posture. As the many hands released him, he sighed. “Fine,” he said. He locked eyes with Drache, glaring daggers he could only wish might manifest to stab him through. “I’ll leave you alone for now, but you’d better be ready when next we meet.”

Drache tapped his chin. “Funny. I believe I’ve said the same thing three times myself. But you didn’t make yourself ready for me after all, did you?” He leered at Jaskier wickedly. "Might not have hurt as much if you had."

Jaskier looked at his feet. “I hate you,” he whispered, as if he was speaking just for himself instead of anyone else. Pain was clear in his voice, but he was docile still, he had fought too many times to know it was one he wouldn’t win.

Geralt stared in horror. The true meaning at last soaked in. The songs, the braid … he saw _red._

He pulled Jaskier protectively to his chest and held him close. “I’m sorry, Jaskier,” he whispered, “but a boundary’s been crossed.”

Drache’s mouth set in a line at the sight.

The next moment, Geralt lifted his head and made a proclamation to the crowd and Drache. “I’ve changed my mind. Bar rules. I may not be able to cut you to pieces as you deserve, but I intend to spill whatever blood of yours I can. Step in the ring and fight me, hand to hand. I want that which you wear on your wrist returned.”

Drache was rather hum-drum about the situation. He raised his wrist, eyeing it lazily. “And if I win, what will you give me? A free hour in the alley with your _companion?”_

Jaskier leaned into Geralt slightly. He knew he would never offer him up, but even the idea put him on edge. He knew Drache, he still had scars from him under his chin where he had held that awful dagger. Having Geralt with him was a comfort at the very least.

“If he loses I’ll sing for you,” Jaskier offered before Geralt had the chance to put something on the table.

Geralt held him tighter. “You’re not a part of this. This is my gamble and I don’t want you to pay for any mistake I might make.” His voice was gentle, soothing. His face was soft as he looked at Jaskier. Then he turned back to Drache with a sneer.

“You can have my knife,” he said. “If I ever meet you again on the road, I think it’ll be a great satisfaction to you to stab me with it. It may not be made of a dragon’s claw, but it’ll sting all the more for it.” He hesitated, then set his jaw firmly. “In addition, you can take another trophy. You’re one wrist bare, and my tail is long.”

Drache considered. “Tail of the White Wolf,” he hummed to himself, mulling it over.

“Geralt, it would have been fine, that’s a steeper price to pay than you think,” Jaskier said softly as they waited on the answer. “It’s not worth it.”

It was a selfish thing really, seeing Drache adorned with them both would be far more painful than the humiliation of having to sing for the bastard.

Geralt stroked his cheek and smiled. “I don’t want you to go wasting your gifts. I’ll be just fine. I’m a bounty hunter, remember? I can hold my own in a fight.”

Drache watched the tender gesture. In a minute, he made his choice. “Very well,” he announced, “but you’ll go through the tournament before we have our little grudge match. I was champion when last I joined the fight; it wouldn’t be fair to let you jump the line. Besides, I wouldn’t want to waste my time fighting someone who can’t make it through his first round.”

Geralt knew it was a ploy. By the time he reached the final round, he’d be tired, weaker, and Drache would have the advantage. There were some large men in the tavern. Though he was no slouch, he was used to the element of surprise, and there was no such help in a man to man fight. It was an honest brawl, no swords, no horse, no terrain or shadow to give him the edge. But as he watched Drache stroke the braid on his wrist. he knew he could do nothing else.

“Let’s go over the rules, shall we?”

The rules were simple: no weapons. If one fighter steps out of the ring, they lose. If they cannot rise to their feet by the count of ten, they lose. Standard rules. No biting, no clawing, no substitutions. Winner moves to the next round.

Jaskier kissed his cheek gently and looked up at him with a half-smile, for his sake. “I wish you luck, darling, and I’ll be cheering for you,” he said warmly before kissing his other cheek.

He’d watched these fights before. There may have been rules but men still played dirty, and Geralt would be in four other fights before he squared off with Drache. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.

“Go ahead and order us some dinner,” Geralt requested cheerfully, doing his best to put Jaskier at ease. “I meant to ask you what you recommend. I’m sure this will take some time, and I don’t want you to go hungry on my account. Besides, I’ll have an appetite soon enough.” He untied the pouch from his belt and handed it over with a wink. “My treat, remember? We’ll make a proper night of it another time, if you’ll forgive me for ignoring your wishes this once.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and smiled back at him faintly. “Give them hell, darling,” he teased before going off to find himself a seat amongst traders at the tavern. He had formed a good reputation with most of the sailors and tradesmen, so he wouldn’t have to worry much about the Dredge while he was without Geralt.

Geralt rolled out his shoulders. He was already plenty loose and ready for a fight. As the proprietor announced the match list, he approached the ring. He saw plainly just what this tournament would be all about. As the names were called, he saw only men in red cloaks answer. Good. No bystander to get caught up in his battles.

His first opponent was a burly man with boots that might fit a bear. Geralt sized him up, remaining unimpressed. He called to mind a certain phrase about how big men fall. It brought a smile to his lips, and his eyes shone with mischief.

Not three seconds after the round started did the bear find himself on his face, half outside of the ring. All Geralt had needed to do was step aside and stick out his foot and the big man fell under his own weight. It was a cheap, dirty move, but perfectly within the rules. He smirked triumphantly.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and raised a brow. “Are you watching?” he seemed to say.

Jaskier had a hand over his mouth to hide his chuckle at Geralt’s technique. He had expected nothing less from him but it was still wildly entertaining. He met his eyes for a moment and smiled over at him in response.

That trick wouldn’t work again, Geralt knew, but it made things much easier. He was still fresh for his second match. He could see the annoyance written plainly on Drache’s face. Another bonus. He was full of plenty more tricks.

The next opponent was about his size and stature. The man tossed aside his cloak before meeting him in the middle of the ring. He had his fists up at the ready and his feet apart, keeping him squarely balanced. When the start was called, he refused to make the first move, letting Geralt come to him. So Geralt obliged, mirroring his pose, fists raised to protect his face. They circled, looking for an opening. The man pulled a few sucker punches to gauge his reaction, to which Geralt responded in kind. Then, as the pattern became comfortable—step, step, punch; step, punch, step—Geralt broke it.

Instead of a step, Geralt shot forward and swung the flat of his boot up between his opponent’s open legs. The man let out a high-pitched squeak and several patrons cringed. A sympathetic chorus of “Oooh” rang through the crowd. Geralt put his foot on the man’s shoulder as he sat curled up on the ground. After ten seconds passed, someone came to pull him back to his seat.

“Who’s next?”

Jaskier had managed to get his section of the bar riled up by then. They cheered and roared with laughter as they watched the fight, and Jaskier was sitting up on the bar by that point, raising a drink to Geralt when he caught his eye again.

Geralt walked up to the bar and held out a hand. “I think I nearly broke a sweat that time. I’m in need of refreshment,” he teased.

Jaskier handed him his tankard. “I didn’t realize you played dirty like that,” he teased back before kissing his cheek again.

“I don’t, but he started it, making me jump through hoops. You reap what you sow.” Geralt took a drink then left his tankard on the bar. “Kiss for luck,” he said, leaning up at him.

“You hardly need it,” Jaskier teased before cupping his cheek in one hand and kissing him gently for a moment before pushing him away. “You’ll get more if you win.”

“Hmm, how much more?” Geralt asked, a dopey smile on his face. He turned and marched back to the ring, already looking forward to it.

The third fighter got wise. The moment the starting call sounded, he dropped to the floor and pulled Geralt’s foot out from under him. Geralt gasped as his shoulders hit the ground. The two of them wrestled on the dirty floor, each trying to pin the other. Geralt winced as the man pulled his hair.

“I don’t take that kind of treatment— _oof!_ —outside of the bedroom,” he panted. He got an arm free and gave him a solid hook to the side of his face. It was just enough to get the man rolling. Geralt clambered out from beneath him as quickly as he could. Before the man could recover, Geralt climbed onto his back and pinned his hands behind him, laying across his back with all the force he could muster.

The count rang out, the bar chiming in. The man struggled and kicked, but Geralt leaned in close, using all his weight. Once, he thought he might end up rolling over the other side when the man gave a final thrash, but the count ended and the man had not risen or broken free. Geralt let him off and wiped his brow, truly breaking a sweat this time round.

The man left the ring rubbing his wrists. He spat on Geralt’s boot on his way out.

Jaskier called over to him when the match finished. “As much as you’d like!”

The bard was grinning. It was cathartic to see his tormentors so easily beaten, especially by Geralt. He didn’t have anything to prove to Jaskier; by this point the bard would give him his whole heart freely, if he wanted it.

Geralt smiled over the heads of the crowd. He waved, feeling quite as if the match had been nothing after all. Such was the power of Jaskier’s smile. “A hundred kisses!” he cried. There was a rousing cheer from the bar. Nothing won a crowd quite like an underdog, especially one with humour and a shining sense of justice.

Jaskier laughed at that, and had to take a moment to collect himself. “As you wish, but you still need to win, darling!” he called back to him. The bar was alive in that moment, and the lovers were its heart. The crowd was with them and that was already half the battle.

Drache was brooding in his seat, unhappy with this particular turn of events. It spurred Geralt on. Ever cheeky, he pointed to the audience. “You all better keep count, lest he try to stiff me,” he said. “You heard him promise: one hundred!”

More laughter. Someone clapped Jaskier on the shoulder and clinked their tankards together. Another attendee whistled and several light-hearted remarks were made. Geralt watched as he prepared himself once more.

One left. Then Drache was his.

Geralt resumed his place in the ring, taking a steady breath. So far, he’d only been bruised a bit from the tussle on the floor. There’d been knees and bumped elbows involved, but nothing too painful on his end. Even so, he knew better than to let it get to his head. This opponent had had time to watch him, learn his tricks, and nobody sent their best fighter in first.

This next was a less stocky breed. He was trimmer, tighter, and poised. Geralt looked at his stance and pictured him with a sword in his hand. It looked quite natural. A fencer. He would be balanced, light on his feet, and difficult to knock down. But he saw, too, that the man leaned over his knee. Geralt recalled his own instruction. He was reminded of another student who made quick jabs but failed to retreat as quickly, lunging too far for recovery, and always keeping too far forward. But there was no sword to parry. He did not know what to make of it.

Jaskier watched with baited breath as Geralt stepped back into the ring. He’d seen the man fight before. He was fast, and it was rare to see him lose. Jaskier was hopeful still: Drache looked worried, which was enough to inspire hope in him that Geralt really had a chance to reach that fight. Hope bolstered his confidence, so when he met Drache’s eye before the fight began, he made sure to give him a grin.

Drache looked back. He rested his chin in his hand. Once more, keeping eye contact, he stroked the silky braid around his wrist. As the match was called, he blew Jaskier a kiss.

The fighter lunged forward with his fingers stiff, hand flat. Years of fencing gave Geralt just enough instinct to flinch aside and back. His own hand shot up as if he held a foil, ready to defend himself. Even so, he felt the brush of a hand against the loose fabric of his shirt.

The man pursued his retreat. Geralt had never encountered this style of fighting before. The man made not one fist when he went to strike. He kept Geralt on the defensive for some time. All the while he frantically fought to keep within the ring and out of harm’s way, Geralt watched. It _was_ like fencing, he realized. He saw the man’s back arm fling out with every lunge for balance. He had an idea and decided the time had come to try.

When the next attack came, Geralt straightened his arm and parried with the side of his hand. He pressed forward while the guard was broken and tried to jab his fingers in the man’s throat. But he was quick. The man recovered his other hand and thrust it in the soft flesh beneath his ribs. Geralt gasped and tucked in on himself. It was that moment his opponent clasped his hands together and rammed them against Geralt’s back.

He went down.

The crowd went quiet as the fight started so Jaskier’s gasp was heard clear as day throughout the bar. He watched in horror as Geralt fell to the floor, and he leaned forwards in his seat so he could get a better view as the count started.

The count was not enough to stop his opponent. A swift kick was headed for his core when Geralt turned over. There was barely enough time to register the oncoming attack. Without thinking, he grabbed the foot and carried the movement through, rolling with it until he turned on his other side. His opponent fell, still within the ring, but it gave Geralt enough time to stand.

The man’s nose was bleeding when he looked up and blood dripped down onto his shirt. He leapt to his feet once more and rushed Geralt in a rage. It was all Geralt could do to keep from getting hit as one by one rapid jabs came flying at him. The boundary was nearing as the man continued to chase him, allowing him neither an in left nor right. Then, the man suddenly swiped at Geralt’s feet, knocking him back. In desperation, Geralt grabbed the cuff of the man’s sleeve and gave it a mighty tug. They turned, falling together, and Geralt landed on top, his elbow in the man’s stomach. There was a painful wheezing sound as the wind left his lungs.

Geralt did not take the time to recover. He simply lurched back and gave the man a kick, both feet, to roll him out of the ring. It was quiet as he lay there a moment, simply trying to collect his breath.

Jaskier pushed his way through the crowd that surrounded the ring and moved to Geralt’s side. “How do you feel?” he asked gently as he knelt beside him.

“Breathless, looking at you,” he joked. He let his head fall back again. More honestly, “Sore in the ribs. Hit my knee on the way down, but no worse for the wear.”

“Let’s get you up, and get you a drink,” he said as he rose and held his hand out for him to take.

Geralt took it and let himself be pulled to his feet. He grunted as he straightened out, then rubbed his elbow. “Order anything to eat yet? The real show is going to start.” Together they lumbered over to the bar. Truthfully, he was more tired than sore. He’d been on the retreat for most of the fight with hardly space to breathe. He did now, his heart thumping in his chest. It had yet to catch up with him.

“I can’t eat when I’m nervous,” he said as he got him in a seat. He sat up on the bar beside him and ran his fingers through his hair. “Do you think you’ll be alright for the last fight?” he asked gently.

The win had been luck. He knew it, figured the rest of the bar did as well, but a win was a win. Geralt could feel Drache’s eyes on him, and it felt close, even with the crowd keeping them apart. He did his best to ignore it. He would not give Drache the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. Now there was nothing between him and his goal. A few minutes of rest and he’d be ready.

Geralt closed his eyes, leaning into the gentle touch. “I’ll be just fine. After all, I’ve got one hundred kisses riding on this round,” he said.

Jaskier chuckled softly and kissed his forehead. “I knew that’d be a good motivator,” he teased before gently pulling his hair. “Besides if you lose this,” he pulled again to make it clear that he meant his hair. “I don’t think I’ll be able to forgive you.”

Geralt winced. “Weren’t you listening before? I don’t take that outside of the bedroom. That still smarts from earlier!” Roach had done quite a number on his poor scalp. He whined and rubbed the spot. “At least leave _something_ for the fight; if you rip it all off now he might back out.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Why don’t you tie it back for the fight? It’s just going to get in the way,” he teased, mostly ignoring his earlier comments. “And that’s not much of a deterrent for me. I don’t want him to have any part of you.”

Geralt opened his eyes. “Why do you think _I’m_ doing this in the first place?” he asked. He was serious now. He snaked one hand up to run his fingers through Jaskier’s silky brown hair. “I don’t want him to have anything either, and I don’t intend to let him keep what he has.”

“I know, darling,” he said gently as he met his eyes again. “Just don’t get too hurt for me, okay? I don’t want you to come out of that fight half dead for some of my hair.”

“It isn’t about the hair, Jaskier. I’ll fight anything and anyone that holds you back or makes you afraid to live your life. This isn’t just about a ruined night on the town either. You belong to me, remember?” Geralt spoke the words softly. There was nothing possessive in them. “For now, at least. I’ll keep you as long as you’ll let me—as long as it’s a free choice.”

“Darling I know,” he said softly. “I want to be yours, I am, you have my heart. He may have taken my dignity from me, but that’s not something I want to lose you over—or even to see you harmed over, you must understand that,” he insisted.

“You have your dignity. Nobody can take that from you with any foul deed.” He took Jaskier’s hands and held them to his chest. “And this is my job, remember? I may not be tying him up and bringing him forward for a bounty, but I’m going to make him pay.” Then Geralt grinned devilishly. “So don’t bet against me just yet. I intend to make the bastard bleed before the end of the match.”

“Well, I think it might be time to get this over with then,” Jaskier said gently as he looked out over the crowd to see Drache walking towards the ring.

Geralt huffed and leaned back in his seat. “He doesn’t get to say when the fight starts. I’ll get to him when I’m good and ready.” He reached for his tankard and took a fortifying swig. Let him wait.

“Very well, but I wouldn’t make the crowd wait for too long, I worked hard to get them on our side,” he teased.

“Then I think they’ll enjoy watching me toy with our fine fiend,” he replied, gazing over the crowd. Drache stood in the empty ring and crossed his arms, watching the two of them chatter. Geralt looked back as he wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s waist. He took another long drink, holding his attention.

Two minutes passed. Then three. A little vein in the side of Drache’s neck began to make itself known. Evidently he was not a very patient man. At last, he parted his way through the crowd and approached the bar.

“When you’re _ready,”_ Drache prompted.

“Yes. When _I’m_ ready.” Geralt stretched and settled an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Just as I had to wait my turn, so do you.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that and leaned into his touch. He was safe in that moment, he could look that demon of a man in the eye and laugh. It was freeing, really.

“I think he wants to get it over with while he still has the courage,” Jaskier hummed. “I doubt there’s any other reason to be so hurried about all of this.”

Geralt leaned closer in mock conspiracy, cupping a hand around his mouth. “Maybe he’s scared that if I rest long enough, he won’t have the advantage. Now he’s seen me fight and his knees are shaking.”

Jaskier chuckled fondly and kissed his forehead. “Oh, the poor thing. At least he recognizes this is a fight he can’t win,” Jaskier hummed lazily, joining in his taunts.

Drache looked at Jaskier. His expression was deceptively mild, though there was a sternness to it nonetheless. “Would you know much about winning fights, little flower?” he asked.

Jaskier grit his teeth slightly at that. “Quite a bit when the fight is fair,” he mumbled, losing some of his edge as he spoke.

Geralt stood. “Get in the ring,” he ordered, staring Drache down.

Drache smiled and bowed his head, gesturing with false politeness. “Ladies first.” Then he was stumbling as Geralt grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak.

Jaskier followed after the pair to watch. That was still an open wound, and having that braid back might be the first stitch to close it.

Geralt tossed Drache free in the ring and the cad shot him a poisonous look. Geralt met his eyes without passion. “I told you not to speak to him,” he said. He flexed his hands, getting ready for the fight ahead. Now he was going to have to deal with the consequences of ignoring his warning.

Drache tossed his cloak aside and called for a tankard, taking a moment to confer with his men.

Geralt turned back to Jaskier. “Can you help me get this out of the way?” he asked, pointing to his hair. He had a feeling Drache would fight dirtier than the rest. The braid on his wrist told him so, by very specific means.

Jaskier pulled a loose leather tie from his pocket. “You need to be careful with him love, he doesn’t fight clean,” he said gently as he tied back his hair.

“From the look of his greasy black hair, I’d say nothing about him is very clean,” Geralt replied.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Just promise me you’ll be careful?” he insisted, making him meet his eyes as he spoke.

“I promise.” He kissed Jaskier’s forehead and let a hand trail down his arm, out of his hand as he moved further into the ring. He was ready. One last fight for the evening.

Jaskier lunged forwards to pull him back for a moment to kiss him properly. “For luck,” He murmured as he pulled away.

Drache sighed heavily as he watched the pair. “Are you going to fight, or just dote over your whore?” he called over with an edge to his voice.

Before the proprietor could raise his hand and call the match, Geralt smacked Drache across the face. The sound could be heard by the barmaids all the way in the back. Geralt shook out his hand.

Drache lunged for him once he recovered from the hit. “Bastard,” he growled as stepped forwards and threw a punch.

Geralt ducked it and skipped around the ring to the other side. “Hey, no fists until they call it. A slap for an insult is fair game.”

“Call it,” he snapped at the proprietor before raising his fists. “You’ll still pay for that.”

Geralt crouched and made ready. “And you’re going to pay for a hell of a lot more.” He didn’t need to study trade and economics to know Drache owed an impossible debt. The slap was just the first of many payments to come.

The proprietor raised his hand and shouted. “Bets closed!” He lowered his hand and pointed into the middle of the ring. “Fight!”

Drache made the first move. It was a vicious jab at Geralt's side as he moved past him. "I can't wait to see his face when I cut away that mane of yours," he snarled.

Geralt grunted and turned around, wary of another attack. A cheap shot to his bruised ribs. “It would probably look a lot like yours when I knock you flat.” The moment his foot hit the ground, he kicked it back up and swung it round to connect with the back of Drache’s knee. Drache was slippery, and he meant to make him as immobile as possible.

Drache's leg buckled under him for a moment, and he fell into a roll as he followed the momentum. "Maybe I'll hunt him down afterwards, too, remind him what a real man feels like." Drache was trying to bait him, that much was clear. He was trying to get Geralt to slip up.

Geralt’s follow-through missed as Drache rolled out of reach. “You’ll have to wait for your balls to drop if you expect to do that yourself. That’s assuming I don’t cut them off the moment I catch you outside without your entourage.”

Drache rose and held his fists in front of himself as he started to circle Geralt once more. "Oh, looks like that hit a nerve, pretty boy. I guess you don't like being reminded that your toy was well broken in," he taunted again before moving in for another jab.

Geralt grabbed his arm and pulled Drache forward, stabbing at his core with his knee. He moved slowly behind him, let him uncurl before preparing for his next move. This fight wasn’t about a quick win. There’d be no stepping out of the ring, no easy disqualification. This fight wasn’t ending until one of them was knocked out. Until then, he’d go until he was satisfied before pulling the final punch. That also meant taking his time when all he wanted to do was take him apart.

“He’s not a toy,” Geralt rebutted. And he was by no means broken. Geralt thought as much, briefly catching Jaskier’s eye in the crowd. "But thank you, I _am_ fairly pretty, aren't I?"

Drache wheezed for a moment and tried to steady himself again. "I'd have to disagree," he muttered as he settled into his stance again. "He's yet to prove to me that he's anything but," he added before putting his fists up again.

Geralt’s brow twitched. “He doesn’t have to _prove_ anything to you,” he spat.

Drache grinned at that. "Oh, sure. But I doubt he thinks otherwise either. He's just a sweet-sounding thing better men get to throw about," he purred as he waited for his next strike.

“Then it comes as a shock you ever did the throwing!” As he spoke, Geralt threw back a fist for a heavy hit. He stepped forward, aiming to knock him right back between the ribs.

Drache groaned softly and fell forwards slightly. He knew by now that this was a fight he couldn't win, but he was going to fight till the end and cause as much damage as possible. He swung at him again and stumbled past him again slightly as he missed.

Geralt turned and stepped on the back of his calve, buckling his knee. He kicked his back, knocking him on his face.

He fell hard but started to pull himself to his feet. "Bastard," he growled softly as he slowly stood up.

"Officially," he said, taking a bow, but there was no smile on his face. "Any other insults you want to get out before we finish?"

Drache raised his hands again and spit on the floor. "Let’s finish this."

"I'm wide open," Geralt taunted, arms raised wide. He thought Drache would've put up more of a fight, really. Barely one good hit.

Drache grit his teeth and swung at his jaw, Geralt could see a flash of metal in his hand as well as he lunged for him.

Geralt jumped to the side as the knife kissed his skin. He hadn't seen him sneak the knife. Something wet rolled down his neck, but he had no time to wipe it away as he averted the next swing. He knew no one would dare call the fight. That was fine. He reached into his boot at pulled out a dagger of his own. Turnabout was fair play.

Drache flipped his knife in his hand and met his eyes with a fire he'd yet to see. "Come on now, take a swing pretty boy."

"You have no idea what you're asking for," Geralt said. A vicious grin graced his features and he braced himself for the attack. Now he was in his element.

Geralt lunged forward and ducked behind Drache, hooking a leg behind his forward foot. Geralt didn't give him a chance to fall. He grabbed him by his long braid and swung him back into the center of the ring, disorienting him. With a hard swipe, he cut the braid free and let him go flying.

He fell to the floor with a hard thud before getting up again, and moving back into Geralt’s space with his knife drawn. “I know who you are, _Geralt of Rivia_ ,” he growled as they circled each other. “I might just have to do a little bounty hunting after this, see Earl Geralt—“ he couldn’t finish the words on his tongue.

Geralt’s fist collided against Drache’s jaw with a sickening _crack_. In blind panic, he’d attacked. The knife in his hand leant an extra firm hit that knocked Drache to the ground once more as Geralt stared in anxious shock, waiting for him to speak again.

He didn’t even move after that. He stayed down. Clearly the hit was the final nail in the coffin and Drache was out cold.

For a moment, nothing moved. Then all at once, the bar erupted in a cacophony of cheers of praise and cries of despair from those who’d bet poorly. At first, Geralt was deaf to it. All he could hear was Drache’s voice in his ear. _Earl Geralt._ There were plenty of earls in Rivia, he told himself. But there was only _one_ Earl Geralt of anything. Mechanically, he bent to cut the braid free from Jaskier’s wrist. The blood was rushing in his ears, his heart pumping more than it had at any point in the fight. He cast his eyes around the bar, examining the crowd. Who had heard? Who might know?

Jaskier pushed his way into the ring and took Geralt’s hand. “Let’s go, please?” he said softly, just loud enough for it to be heard over the crowd.

Geralt nodded. He stopped only to pay the tab and retrieve his knife. Within a minute, they were through the doors and on Roach’s saddle, heading out into the night without a word.

Jaskier settled against his chest while they rode, but he kept quiet. He listened to Roach’s hoof beats while they continued along and he tried not to let his thoughts drift from them.

“Where are we going?” Geralt asked, breaking the silence at last. He’d merely started into the city without thinking. He was coming down now, and realized he had no plan. All he’d been thinking about was putting distance between them and the bar.

“My house? Or yours—just somewhere quiet,” he said softly, looking at his hands while he spoke.

“Mine then. It’s far away and plenty quiet” Geralt looked around to get his bearings, then turned Roach in the right direction. “Thank you for staying,” he said, matching volume. “I hope it wasn’t too much, being there, watching that.”

“I don’t know how I feel yet, it’s—it’s a lot,” he admitted gently before running his fingers through Roach’s mane. “I’m happy he was taken down a peg, but, I just. I thought I would feel better.”

Geralt wrapped a hand around him. “You don’t have to feel better if you don’t. You don’t have to feel anything about it at all if that’s what you decide. I just didn’t want to hear him talking another minute.”

He pressed the two bundles of hair into Jaskier’s hand. “You decide what’s to be done with these,” he said. “Keep them, burn them, throw them in the water; it’s your choice.”

“We’ll burn them when we get somewhere safe; I don’t want to look at them,” he said softly. “He’ll come after you, too, now,” he said softly as he clutched the braids. “I didn’t want you to put yourself in harm’s way, but I can’t change that now.”

Geralt gave his hand a squeeze. He kissed the back of his head, a light touch of lips buried in his hair. “I prefer it that way. If he’s after me, he’ll be too distracted to bother you, and I know how to handle his type. I’m a bounty hunter with a bounty of my own—I’m always watching my back and getting out of a scrape.”

That seemed to put him at ease for the moment. “As long as you’re careful … ”

He was leaving a lot unsaid, mostly he was happy to be out of the bar, and that Geralt had won.

By the light of the moon, they saw the barn approach. Geralt helped Jaskier off the saddle, then unbuckled the tack and set it aside, giving Roach a thankful pat. She trotted outside to drink from the trough. They went in.

As soon as he reached the loft, Geralt set to work lighting a fire in the stove and putting the kettle on. Soon the room was rosy bright and warm, though the atmosphere had not much improved, burdened by their own apprehension. Geralt sat on one of the cushions and beckoned Jaskier to take the place beside him, drawing forth a spare blanket. Another gift someone had passed on to him. It was crocheted with comfortable green and yellow yarn, and the warmth it offered was more than the functional sort.

Jaskier shrugged off his doublet before he settled in beside him. He set aside the hair on the table and tucked himself against his side. He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed softly as he got his bearings.

He wished he could lean into the relief he felt—that soft warmth that seemed to settle in him—but he couldn’t. He bit his lip and took a moment to try to quell his worries but that didn’t help, so he looked up at Geralt again. “You’re still going to stay with me, right?” he asked gently.

Geralt’s eyes grew wide, startled. He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, holding him tight. “Of course,” he said. “Why would you think otherwise?”

Jaskier didn’t look up at him, and he wiped his eyes. “I just … I wasn’t sure if I’d still be enough. I didn’t want you to see this—this isn’t—I’m supposed to make you happy. That’s what I’m good at. I never wanted you to know about this.”

Geralt pulled him to his chest, gripping him tight, his nose buried in Jaskier’s hair. His words were muffled, but Jaskier could hear the strain in his voice. “You’re not _supposed_ to make me or anyone happy. You aren’t filling some role. Happiness just … happens.” He planted a kiss to his temple. “You’re enough,” he affirmed. “Just you. Without your singing, without any nonsense about purity—just you for you. And I’m sorry I learned something secret; it should be your choice what parts of your past you want known. Just know there’s no shame in what’s happened. Not for you. Not in any way.”

Jaskier hugged him tightly and sniffled softly. Geralt had meant that, he knew that much, and it felt like someone had grabbed his heart. He was used to feeling disposable, being left behind, or having it made perfectly clear that he wasn’t worth more than his title. It was another thing he was reluctant to show, but Geralt was skilled at pulling him apart.

Geralt ran a soothing hand over his back and wrapped the blanket around him. He shushed him calmly, just as he’d done for Roach during particularly bad storms when the thunder boomed and lightning crackled and seemed nearly to rend their shelter to pieces. They rocked a little in place as Geralt tucked his chin over Jaskier’s shoulder. The fire crackled amicably at their side.

“I have mint tea, or jasmine, if you like,” he whispered. “Bought fresh from the market, only a few days ago. There’s some milk, a jar of honey, a loaf of bread and new butter, and we can bake a few pears for dinner when you’re ready. There’s no hurry.”

“I would like that,” he said gently. He felt so safe with Geralt, it was difficult to explain. They had barely known each other for two days but his heart had clearly made its choice in the matter.

“How are you feeling? Since the fights I mean—are you hurt?” he asked gently as he peered up at him.

Geralt smiled and shook his head. “I’m fine. Some light bruising, a little scratch, but I’ll live.” He’d probably feel sore in the morning, but he’d had quite an exhausting time. It was nothing worse than usual.

Jaskier kissed his cheek gently. “Okay, why don’t we stay in tomorrow?” he offered once he pulled back. “You need the rest, and it might be nice to just spend the day in together.”

“That sounds like a plan.” Geralt closed his eyes, resting his head against Jaskier’s. A good long lie-in, followed by a late breakfast. They could watch Roach chase the chickens for her morning exercise while fetching eggs. A slow day, just the two of them in bed or by the stove, some light reading, sharing songs and stories. It’d be a good change of pace to their rather manic beginning.

Jaskier hummed contently and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Truth be told he needed the rest too. Drache always took a lot out of him, even if he just saw him in a bar. Even with Geralt there, he’d overworked his senses trying to keep an eye out for others from his guild, trying not to let his guard down.

Geralt held him awhile longer until the kettle began to whistle, then he pulled away and took to his feet to prepare their tea. He fetched them each a plate and cup from a little cabinet on the wall, and poured the boiling water into a teapot. From the same cabinet he retrieved the tea, spoons, a knife, as well as the pears, bread, butter, and honey. He looked round for something that might serve for a tray and found one of the large wooden boards he’d been using to patch the roof. Carefully, he arranged his stock and carried them back before the stove.

“Which tea did you want?” he asked.

“I’ll have some of the jasmine, I’ve always liked floral teas,” he said with a little smile. He tugged the blanket around his shoulders and carried it with him as he made his way to the stove to join him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned against his back when he reached him.

“I’ve learned to like it better since I started visiting the locals. Before then, I preferred coffee.” He hadn’t had coffee in a long time now, but he remembered it fondly. Its smell lingered in his memory as he opened the bag of tea, scooping two spoonfuls into the pot. He sliced the bread and put it in the small compartment of the stove to let it warm up. He himself was encompassed with warmth on all sides from the stove and Jaskier. He sighed. It would be nice to have another hour like this. He wondered how many he’d get in future.

He squeezed him gently at that. “I’ve never been fond of coffee,” he admitted gently as he settled against him. “I already have an excessive amount of energy so it just ends up making me jittery,” he mumbled as he got comfortable.

Geralt chuckled. “I can picture it now, you running around, singing as fast as possible while you strum your lute like you’re trying to shake a cramp off your hand.” He removed the bread and set the slices on a plate each, dropping the pears in the now empty place in the dish he kept in the stove. They’d be cooking awhile. “Ready for tea?” he asked.

He nodded a bit, and let him go for a moment. “I’m ready, where do you keep your cups?” he asked as he adjusted the blanket.

Geralt lifted one off his tray. "Got them right here," he said, a smile in his voice.

“Oh, beat me to it?” he teased before going to sit in the pillows again.

“I like to be a good host.” Geralt set his tray down before them and poured the tea for them both. He lifted the lid on the jar of honey and helped himself to a large spoon of it, stirring it in his tea. After buttering his bread, he added a drizzle of honey to that too. “There’s milk, too, if you take it.” He wasn’t sure if milk went with floral tea or not, but he’d brought it along just in case. Now he felt he ought to have tried it at some point or asked.

“I like my tea black,” he hummed as he picked up his cup and held it. He wasn’t drinking it just yet, simply holding it to keep his hands warm.

Geralt frowned and looked into his own cup. “It’s yellow,” he said. Had he brewed it wrong? He usually left it up to the host to brew the tea when he brought it over to share. He’d never actually learned and hardly bothered to brew any for himself. A slight pink brushed over his cheeks as he started over-thinking things.

Jaskier chuckled fondly at that and kissed his cheek. “I mean I like it plain,” he teased, before taking his slice of bread and buttering it. “You’re cute when you blush.”

That was the trouble with having a pale complexion: even the slightest flush was obvious. It came of working mostly at night, being hardly in the sun for long periods of time. Then again, he’d never really noticed, not having many occasions which called for blushing, but he found himself being called on it plenty these last two days. Jaskier really was too complimentary.

Geralt turned pinker and busied himself with his bread and tea.

Jaskier kissed his cheek once Geralt seemed to shift his attention from him. It was good to be with someone so steady right now. Everything else seemed to be in a constant state of change, and he was simply being tugged along in the current, but Geralt at least seemed to give him something to float on for the time being. It gave him a sense of security no matter how fleeting it might turn out to be.

In a short time, the pears were ready. Geralt opened the stove carefully and speared the pears with a knife to check them. Just as carefully, he lifted them onto their empty plates. “Let them cool first or you’ll burn yourself,” he warned. He cut his open and a small cloud of steam rose up between them with a mouth-wateringly sweet aroma. Geralt scampered back to the cabinet and fetched down another small jar, this time filled high with walnuts. He grinned and settled back down on his cushion, uncorking the jar and crushing a few in his hand to sprinkle over his pear.

“This was a gift from my last visit to one of the farms just before the mills. They grow walnut trees there and when I brought some honey, they sent me home with a whole jar of them. I spent an afternoon shelling them last week.” He held the jar out to Jaskier and shook it. “Here,” he offered. “They go well with baked pears.”

Jaskier took a small handful of the nuts and crushed them over his pear as well, "Do you have any cinnamon perchance? It might go well with them too, balance out the sweetness." he suggested before taking a small sip of his tea. Truth be told this was more dessert than dinner, but he didn't mind, besides, everything looked far better than dinner at the sturgeon would have been anyways.

“I’m afraid I don’t. As far as seasoning goes, I’ve only got salt,” Geralt confessed. When it came to cooking, he usually just took herbs he was sent home with. He craned to look at them, all strung up to dry on a line between the beams. “Uh, I’ve got mint, basil, some sage and rosemary. I’m not sure what those ones are,” he said, pointing. But no cinnamon.

"We'll make do without then, the sage and rosemary might be interesting to try, but I'm not willing to spoil my dinner in an attempt to make it more _complex,_ " Jaskier teased gently before settling against Geralt's side once more.

“I think rosemary might work, but sage sounds risky. I’ve only used it with pasta.” Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier almost reflexively. “I’m going to have to review those recipe cards and figure out what these are called again. I think the bundle on the right was for fish. The lady who gave it to me said she brought it from her home town when they settled here.”

"I'm sure we'll be able to sort it out," he said warmly. He felt so safe in his arms like that, as if the outside world was so far away it would never reach him. He wanted it to stay like this, to run away to some far off place and live in his lover's arms.

Geralt settled in. It was comfortable, just sitting here. He imagined how it might be in fall or winter when the snow was falling and the stove was even more inviting. He’d make warm pear cider then. This place would be lovely in winter, judging from the little row of it among the elven trees and the paintings. How nice it would be to arrive at another farm and pretend for an hour that the round old woman forcing pie on them was his own sweet grandmother, or the peppered old man rambling on about his prized preserves meant it when he called him ‘son’ now and then. The whole countryside was so warm and inviting. He couldn’t wait to share it. Geralt cut his pear with the side of his fork and blew on it and had himself a bite. He liked this simple life.

Jaskier waited a little longer before digging into his own meal, and filled the silence instead. “This is my greatest indulgence,” he said warmly as he closed his eyes. “Simple things, and simple feelings, there’s nothing quite like them.”

Geralt hummed in agreement. “But is it indulgence if it’s how you live your daily life? That’s the question.”

"It is if it’s something you truly let yourself take pleasure in," Jaskier hummed before taking a small bite of his pear. "It doesn't need to be rare, simply pleasureful."

“Then I’m with you,” Geralt replied. Though it was, in many ways, an indulgence with everything the word implied. The negative connotation of an indulgence being something one was not meant to have often, or so greedily. That was the nature of this life he’d stolen for himself when he’d cut ties.

Cut. Geralt remembered Drache’s words, moments after cutting his hair. His heart gave an anxious tremble. He pulled away enough to open the bottom door of the stove. He tossed another log in and turned to Jaskier. “Should we burn them now?” he asked.

“Are you done cooking for the night?” he asked gently before picking up the small braid of his hair. The memory was still far too fresh in his mind, and his hair was just another piece of that wound.

Geralt nodded. “Unless you’d like another pear.”

"No, well, I guess it’s time then … " he said gently. He picked up his braid and held it tight. "I don't want to burn his here, I know it’s silly, but I don't want any part of him here … "

Geralt put a comforting hand over his. “I understand,” he said. “If you want, I can take it out and burn it away from here, or bury it somewhere. If you’d like to do it yourself, I’ll go with you, wherever you like.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and fiddled with his braid gently. He felt sick. It was supposed to be freeing, to burn what had been stolen from him, to really let it go, but it held so much weight. He bit his lip slightly and took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can do this," he said softly. "I want to, I think I should, I just don't know."

Geralt waited a moment, then closed the stove door. He took Jaskier’s hands in his and looked him in the eye. “Jaskier?” he whispered.

He met his eyes, the bard looked lost. There was so much pain and fear still settled behind those eyes, he didn't say anything, he just took a moment to breathe. "I know it’s silly to be this worked up over it," he mumbled as he glanced off slightly to wipe his eyes. "It just feels like a lot more than hair."

“It isn’t silly. Even if you burn it, it’s still hard to let go.” Geralt looked at the stove, then looked back at the bundle in Jaskier’s hand. “You don’t _have_ to burn it. If you want to wait, you can wait.”

Then, Geralt had an idea. He reached back and combed his hair with his fingers until one came loose. He wrapped it around the loose end of the bundle and tied it in place with a bow. “There,” he said proudly, as if it was evident what he’d just done.

Jaskier gave him a clearly confused look. "Why did you do that?" he asked as he settled back against his side.

“It’s a charm,” he explained, “like tying a string around your finger to remember something, but the opposite. I’m tying a hair around the bundle so you can forget it. You can put it away until you feel safe and ready to be rid of it.”

Jaskier smiled up at him weakly, before hugging him and hiding his face against his chest. It may be something meant to help him forget, but the silver strand seemed to make it an easier burden to bear. It wasn't just his weight to carry now.

Geralt hugged him tightly. “I know it isn’t really much, but I thought something small might help. And you can do it just like that, one hair at a time until it’s all gone. Letting go all at once is a hard step to make. Take little steps, half-steps, whether one a day or one a month. And you never have to be completely over it. Hell, I still bear a grudge for some faceless person at a party for stealing the last cream cake out from under me,” he said with a chuckle.

Jaskier glanced up at him with a faint smile. “I didn’t realize you were so petty,” he teased gently. “You and I might have done well at gatherings together if I knew you back then,” he said fondly.

“I like sweets, and I was kept too busy to have anything that night until late. I was eyeing them from across the room for three hours while I had to sit in on several introductions and lengthy conversations concerning upcoming trade policies. I couldn’t get up.”

“That’s when you pull aside a waiter of some sort and ask them to get you one; pastries never last the whole night,” he teased gently, taking note of Geralt’s fondness for sweets.

“I was also never good at calling attention to myself,” Geralt added. Thankfully, he made much use of that these days. It was much less of a problem than it was an advantage now, but it was also something he’d gradually overcome during his travels, learning to reach out to others when he wished to learn about the land. Pushy old grandmothers were very good at teaching that sort of thing.

“Hmm, well, if we ever end up at an affair together, I’ll be sure to keep you well supplied in pastries if you keep me similarly supplied in company.” It was a big if really, one he hoped they would never come across but the offer was made nonetheless.

Geralt snorted. “Maybe at the next barn-raising. I’ll be pulling up a wall with six other men and you can be at the table passing out refreshments.” He knew what Jaskier meant, really. Seeing Jaskier might be his one relief if he ever got taken in. There was a sinking feeling, and he added quietly. “I’d still like to see you. After. If.”

“If we have to part I’ll let you know how to contact me,” he said gently. It went unsaid, but they left titles behind now, there was no reason for them, and considering his parents had already made him an enemy to his lover.

“It might be difficult.” Geralt thought about the life he’d be forced to marry into. While an unmarried earl might go a little unsupervised, a man married to a duke would be kept on a tight leash—especially when that marriage was one forced upon him. Keeping friends would be difficult, let alone a lover, especially another peer.

“We won’t be too far from one another, Rivia and Lyria are close,” he said gently. His betrothed might not be fond of the arrangement, but, if he offered him similar freedoms, maybe it could work.

“I don’t know about you, but I’ll be kept under lock and key.” He scoffed, imagining it. “After learning what I’ve done for a living these past three years, they’d probably post a page in the bedroom on the wedding night to make sure I don’t slit his throat during the consummation,” he grumbled, casually letting his status slip. He hadn't mentioned his engagement before.

“Well, would you?” he asked lazily, before eating a bit more. “If mine attempted to force himself on me, I would kill him.”

Geralt considered. “Maybe I wouldn’t _kill_ him. It’s not his fault he’s stuck with me. If anything, I’d tie him up and leave him for the maids before climbing out the window. Can’t call it a marriage if it isn’t consummated, and I’m not fucking the bastard.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “You seem to enjoy tying up those who end up in your bed,” he teased lazily before moving into his lap. “Whether it be so you can escape or otherwise.”

Geralt’s ears turned pink. “You know that wasn’t what I was implying,” he said.

“Oh I know, but I quite enjoy that look on your face when you get embarrassed,” he teased.

So Geralt decided to give as good as he got. “Maybe I’d give him a proper kiss at the ceremony to get back at you,” he threatened. “It’d be a _very_ grand affair. Whatever your rank, I’m sure you’d be expected to attend, then you’d have to watch in silent misery.”

“As if seeing me in the crowd, handkerchief in hand and tears in my eyes wouldn’t make you inclined to leave the poor thing at the altar,” he teased. “I would be sure to make a very moving speech at the reception too, really remind you of what you’re missing.”

“Like I said; lock and key. They’d have somebody with a sword to my back all the way up the aisle. Maybe two.” Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. “If you got married first, I think your husband might prevent such speeches. I hope you _would_ be first, then I could crash the wedding and challenge him to a duel.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Are you planning to steal away with me? Wound my husband and run off into the night with me, leaving our betrotheds far behind?” he teased lazily.

“They can marry each other,” Geralt joked. Suddenly, he scooped Jaskier up in his arms and rushed to his feet. “I’ll sweep you up at the altar and we’ll leave together on Roach. We’ll ride to the edge of the world! I’ll build us a house there where no one will find us.”

“A cottage with a garden, and a view of the sea,” Jaskier offered with a giggle as he held onto him tightly.

Geralt spun them around, just to feel Jaskier cling tighter. “We’ll be able to walk on the beach every evening!” he cried.

“I’ll write you a new love song every day, and sing until my lungs give out,” he cried out with him as he clutched at him.

“And every night”—Geralt dumped him on the bed and trapped him in his arms—“we’ll relive that first night of our stolen honeymoon.” With playful gusto, he attacked Jaskier’s neck making comical growling noises, interspersed with goofy, sloppy half-kisses.

Jaskier tangled a hand in his hair and couldn’t help his giggles. It was sweet, and silly in the best way, and it as all for them.

Geralt blew a raspberry on his cheek and came up laughing. He laughed so hard he couldn’t open his eyes, then he buried his face in Jaskier’s shoulder to stifle the remaining giggles.

His laughter was contagious, and soon enough he was laughing alongside him, holding him tightly as he tried to catch his breath.

Geralt took a deep breath and sighed happily. It was all partly jest, and partly a wish he hoped to see fulfilled. Fuck early. It was in his title to be early. “Does that mean you’ll let me love you?” he asked. At least for a little while.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he said gently, before combing his fingers through his hair. “As long as I get to have you in my arms, you have my heart.”

Geralt hummed and closed his eyes, hugging him impossibly closer. “I guess I’ll have to do all the cooking then since your arms are going to be otherwise occupied from here on out.”

“You know what I meant,” he teased before pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “As long as you’re here and will have me, I’m yours.”

He chuckled. “Better get comfy; I don’t plan on letting you go anytime soon. And I do mean that in a very literal way. What do you say we get these boots off and get under the covers?”

“I’d like that; it _is_ getting late,” he said with a little yawn. “Haven’t slept properly in a few days now.”

“I slept like a baby this morning,” Geralt bragged, sitting up. He undid his laces properly this time and set his boots under the table. “I’m only worried that sleeping with you will put me on a regular schedule, and I’m used to very different hours. I might have to find employment as a farmer or something if that’s the case.”

“I doubt you would mind the change in occupation that much,” he teased before sitting up as well and tugging off his boots.

“No, I really wouldn’t.” Geralt pried himself out of his shirt and trousers, leaving them in a pile and kicking them beside his boots. They needed a wash; no point in folding them neatly. He crawled into bed, laying on the side closest to the ladder. He rested his head in his arms as he lay on his back, watching Jaskier. “I think I’d make a decent farmer, just as soon as I learned to keep something alive.”

“Hmm, maybe animals instead of plants then. You do a great job with Roach, and cows or goats can’t be too different,” he said before getting up to step out of his trousers. He settled beside him after that and closed his eyes.

Geralt turned over to lay a hand around Jaskier’s waist. “I’ve already got some experience with chickens too. Goats and cows shouldn’t be too difficult to learn.”

“I can picture it now,” he chuckled softly as he relaxed under his touch. “The only downside would be how early you’d have to wake up.”

“Ah, so my sleep schedule still changes,” Geralt lamented, but there was really no passion behind it; he was smiling. “As long as we don’t have to start tomorrow, I’ll consider it. Tonight and tomorrow, we sleep until we’re tired of it.”

“Good,” he murmured softly before a yawn escaped him. “I’m tired … ” Sleep with the promise of waking up in Geralt’s arms the next morning was more than enough to convince him to give into his exhaustion.

Geralt chuckled and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s forehead, then tucked him under his chin. “Goodnight, Jaskier,” he whispered.

“Goodnight,” he mumbled softly before slowly falling asleep in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're just dumping this whole thing in one go. To any subscribers, sorry for the email spam. It's too long to make it one big chunk lol.


	3. Chapter 3

First thing in the morning, the cock crowed, and Geralt raised his head in annoyance. That damn bird. It couldn’t crow on the ground, not on the fence, or even on top of the chicken coop; it just _had_ to choose today of all days to sit on the roof of the barn to scream its head off. And gods above, could it ever scream.

“I’m going to have that thing roasted with rosemary and onions one of these days,” he grumbled, already making plans.

The cock was Roach’s favorite target for chasing, and he hoped it hadn’t at last found the one place she was incapable of reaching. If it was a conscious decision, he might have to move or live every morning in an early hell until Roach finally caught the damn thing. She hated the noise as much as he did, if not more so. He heard her snort of indignation all the way from the floor of the barn, up through the loft. The cock had won this round.

Jaskier curled closer to Geralt as the rooster pulled him from his dreams. He had slept well until then, but it wasn’t worth complaining over.

He tried to fall back asleep once the bird finished its awful song but by then he was already entirely awake. He peered up at Geralt with a fond little smile, before mumbling, “Good morning.” Sleep was still heavy on his tongue but that didn’t pull any of the warmth from his words.

Geralt’s sour expression softened. “Morning.” He looked at Jaskier with a drowsy grin. “Now that’s a sight I could get used to,” he said. With one hand, he smoothed the ruffle of Jaskier’s bedhead, then cupped his hand around his jaw to bring him forward for a good morning kiss.

Jaskier kissed him back gently before pulling away and tucking himself back against his chest. “I wouldn’t mind waking up like this,” he said lazily, “although maybe without the rooster, and when the sun is a bit higher.”

“Get rid of the rooster and that solves both problems.” Not that it was his rooster to chase or to roast, but he could delight in the terror it experienced whenever it came too close to Roach’s territory and faced the consequences. He took a deep breath and sighed before snuggling back down on his pillow, the warmth of Jaskier curled up against him. “Dream anything?” he asked.

“Nothing better than this,” he said lazily. Truth be told his dreams seemed to flee his memory once he woke up, but he didn’t mind, especially when they were replaced so quickly before his lover’s affections. Jaskier snuggled closer to him slightly. “How about you? Any dreams of note? Or have they been lost to the morning already?” he hummed back.

Geralt chuckled contentedly, pulling Jaskier closer to nuzzle at his hair. "Oh, I think I'm still having one now," he teased. "Must be."

Jaskier chuckled fondly at the touch and let his eyes fall closed again. “Maybe, although I hope it isn’t.”

"Pinch me," Geralt suggested jokingly.

Jaskier did him one better and sat up slightly so he could kiss him instead.

"Well, _I_ felt that, so I'm awake. And how about you?" Geralt gave him another kiss to be sure and asked, "Still think you're dreaming?"

He settled back against his chest. “Hmm, no, I think that clears it up,” he teased

"So, now that that's settled, how shall we spend our lazy day? At least another hour in bed is mandatory."

“Hmm, we could return to the city for the day so I can play, or we could go to the seaside?” he offered.

"Let me think: a day in the city, surrounded by strangers, the Dredge in and out of the streets, or a quiet day at the seaside, the object of your undivided attention?" There wasn't much of a decision to make. "I say we bring your lute and a basket, make a picnic of it in the sand."

“The beach it is then,” he chuckled softly, “hopefully it’ll be warm enough for us to swim as well, it’s been a while since I’ve had the chance.”

"It should be. We aren't north enough for the water to sting this time of the year. If you're worried, we can bring a blanket along with us. A bonfire would be nice. Have you ever thrown seaweed on a bonfire before? It makes a loud popping sound. I used to do it all the time when I was a boy."

“It sounds like something we’ll have to try,” Jaskier hummed before sitting up to stretch. “It sounds like a fantastic plan all together, if we stay long enough we might be able to watch the sun set.”

Geralt smiled and sat up against the headboard with him. The sunsets were spectacular. He preferred them on days when there weren't many ships passing and the clouds caught the light best. Perfectly clear days made for dull sunsets. Clouds added character.

"What to pack for lunch is the question," Geralt ruminated.

Jaskier settled back against his side and with a content little sigh. He would be happy to never leave his side. He felt so safe there, it was easy to forget his woes.

“Hmm, sandwiches are never a bad idea,” he offered. “Although I might prefer bounty hunter,” he teased

"Sandwiches for a day on the sand sounds like a _good_ idea, but I wonder if I should worry about your insatiable appetite." Geralt ran his hand softly over Jaskier's arm, stroking comfortably. Now _that_ wasn't a bad idea at all.

He chuckled softly at that. “I’m hardly _insatiable_ , you seem to know exactly how to take care of that actually,” he teased back lazily before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Geralt returned the favor, kissing his temple. “Do I really?” he asked. “I’m not so sure. I think I may have to try again.” He pushed Jaskier slightly to the side to trail tickling kisses along his neck. “And again,” he added. He let Jaskier bear his weight, wrapped in his arms, and kissed the corner of his mouth before once more whispering, “And _again.”_

Jaskier moved a hand into Geralt’s hair and pulled him into a kiss at that, letting them fall back into the pillows as he stopped supporting them. “You’re a tease, Geralt, but I love it,” he purred lazily once he pulled away from his lips.

“I can’t be a tease if I follow through,” he argued, grinning. Then he flopped back down to rest on Jaskier’s shoulder once more. He craned and pressed another kiss to his jaw. “And you’re one to talk.”

“I never claimed to be any better,” he teased before fiddling with his hair. “And I’m a bard; most of my job is telling half-truths, and hoping my audience finds it entertaining. Which certainly seems to be the case here.”

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed happily. He could revel in the feeling of those hands in his hair for hours. “And what half-truths are you entertaining me with this morning, love?” he asked, as if he could spare a single thought to pay attention. His fingers were hypnotic and Geralt’s weakness was obvious. He might as well be a purring kitten.

“Your teasing mostly,” he said lazily. “Although I could easily find more interesting tales to tell, or songs to sing. Maybe someday I’ll write you your own ballad; you’ve certainly earned one.”

“Tell me one now. Tell me a story or a song.” He stared up at Jaskier with absolute adoration. “If you make it a good one, I’ll share something with you in return. Maybe I’ll tell you a secret.” He was so fond of stories.

Jaskier blushed faintly and tugged at Geralt’s hair gently to break the eye contact. “Hmm, why don’t I tell you about a sorceress I met in my travels?” he offered.

“That sounds like an interesting tale.” He’d met plenty of sorcerers and sorceresses at grand events, but he’d never had much time to hear any of their fascinating accounts. Being themselves charmed, he imagined they live charmed lives full of magic and wonder.

"Well, it all started a year ago when I was first leaving Lyria, I was barely outside my city's walls when I first met the woman. She had disguised herself as an old widow and seemed to be headed in the same direction that I was, so I offered her my place in the saddle so she wouldn't have to walk so far. We camped together that night and she revealed herself to me. She looked as if she wasn't of this earth, a rare beauty that put any woman that I'd ever met to shame, and she offered me a reward for my kindness."

Jaskier was mostly telling half-truths up until that point, but now the tale had drifted into pure fiction. "I attempted to reject the offer but she insisted. You see, she had spent most of her life in courts, and was used to lords being arrogant, and more concerned with lining their pockets than helping their people. I insisted I didn't want anything more than to help people, so she gifted me my lute, and I've been playing it and sharing stories ever since, distracting them from their woes and hardships, and helping where I can while I'm on the road."

Geralt smiled, amused. “Is it a _magic_ lute?” he asked. “Is that how you managed to charm me so easily?"

“No, it is simply expertly made,” he teased lazily before kissing his cheek. Truth be told it was an engagement gift, but Geralt didn’t need to know that.

“How beautiful was this woman? Did you write a song about your fairytale encounter?”

“Well, she was prettier than you are,” Jaskier teased again. “And I did, but it’s difficult to sing while I’m being crushed by a wolf of a man.”

“How much prettier would you say?” Geralt crept on top of Jaskier to let the full force of his weight bare down over him. He rested on Jaskier’s chest, chin on top of neatly folded hands, forcing eye contact with a cocky expression.

“I’d say twice … no, three times as pretty,” Jaskier hummed defiantly as he grinned up at him. His voice was a little strained but not too much.

“Hmm. Did you sleep with her?” he asked.

“No, I wasn’t her type,” Jaskier hummed before reaching up to play with his hair.

“That’s too bad. My last partner was _very_ pretty.” Geralt ran a thumb over Jaskier’s mouth as he spoke. “Full lips, violet eyes, and black hair like silk. I’d say she was no less than _four times_ prettier than you, and I had the privilege of seeing her a mess every night.”

Jaskier pouted up at him when he said that, and nipped at his thumb slightly while he spoke. “Oh, you wound me Geralt, how dare you play with my heart like this?” He huffed in faux indignation.

“Because unlike you, I’m nice enough to say that however pretty she was, I’d leave her sitting alone at the table if I saw you at the bar. What is pretty when met with _beautiful?”_

“You didn’t let me finish either,” he said with a blush. “You aren’t pretty, it doesn’t suit you, but you are so handsome you’d make the stars in the sky jealous.”

Geralt chuckled. “I don’t know which of us won,” he said, “but I’m inclined to believe it’s me. I get to see you blush. A bit of red suits you.” He leaned in close and whispered, "I wonder how jealous the stars would be if they saw me kiss you beneath them tonight."

Jaskier went redder and hid his face in his shoulder. “Why don’t we find out tonight then? Spend the whole day under the open sky, and sleep on the sand?”

Geralt laughed and wriggled off of him. “Don’t hide; come on out. Don’t you want to see the secret I promised you? I can’t show you if you hide.”

“You’re making me blush, Geralt!” He huffed as he looked back up at him. “But I do want to know your secret, every one of your secrets actually,” he teased.

“I know I am, and that’s why I want to see you. It isn’t fair if you get all the fun teasing, and turning _me_ red.” He pushed Jaskier’s fringe back and pecked his forehead. Then, he rolled over and braced himself on the floor with one hand, leaning far out of the bed to fumble with something. When he came back up, there was a large box in his hands. He readjusted the covers and set the box in his lap. He removed the lid, but quickly shut the box back up.

“Now just a minute. You must solemnly swear never to reveal that which I am about to share with you on pain of death. _Gruesome_ death,” he added for extra measure. “These secrets are not mine alone, and I was told to share them wisely and sparingly.”

“I swear on my life, if I tell another living soul I will let myself be eaten alive by a pack of drowners,” Jaskier said solemnly, before moving to sit up again. “Now, are you going to show me, or do I have to take a blood oath before that?” he teased lazily before wrapping his arms around Geralt’s waist and leaning fully against him.

“No blood; you might stain the parchment.”

Then, with a mental one-two-three that was palpable, Geralt lifted the lid. Inside the box were an assortment of strange things: small cloth bags, ribbons, little wooden figures and such, and in one tidy corner, a smaller box filled with cards. Geralt plucked the first and passed it to Jaskier.

“Recipes. All of them secret,” he said, grinning. “I have Granny Bagshire’s first-in-fair toffee pudding recipe. Not even her own _daughter_ knows it, but _I_ do.” He winked and put a finger to his lips.

Jaskier chuckled at the sight and kissed Geralt’s shoulder. “This must be the box of wonders I’ve heard about,” he hummed as he looked over the contents. “You must tell me how you came across that particular treasure,” he insisted as he looked at the card.

“Well … I’m not one to kiss and tell,” Geralt teased, struggling to hide his laughter.

Jaskier kissed his cheek. “But I swore on a gory death never to tell another soul—I think I’m owed one tale,” he teased.

Geralt took a steadying breath, but a goofy smile remained. “Don’t tell my fiancé, but I refused his pearly, perfumed hand only to turn around and kiss a wrinkly woman in her eighties for a simple dessert within the same month. I daresay I made her year, if not her decade.”

Jaskier had to laugh at that, he could imagine the outrage from whatever lord Geralt was supposed to be courting if they ever heard the tale. “Well, is it any good?”

Geralt erupted in laughter right along with him. “She slipped me the tongue, but I’d let her do it again! It really is that good!” he cried. He tucked the card back at the front: a place of honour. “I made it myself once when I could afford it and the instructions were easy and clear enough to make it perfect. Granny charges a high price, but she _delivers.”_

“It seems like she might be some stiff competition then,” Jaskier chuckled fondly. “Tongue, and a recipe to sweeten it, I doubt I could compete.”

“You’re sweet enough for me,” Geralt replied. “Besides, by now she’s sure to _be_ a stiff. She was already ailing when I came along. Nearly took the secret to her grave. Thankfully, the rest of these recipes came from more modest encounters.”

“A kiss on the hand or a freshly weeded garden, I’d assume?” Jaskier hummed lazily. “It’s sweet that you’ve kept all of this.”

“Digging in fields, building roads, and slopping pigs,” he confirmed. “My favorites came from around the holidays and harvest celebrations. People are especially generous then, and they make special things. After a day’s work, they’d invite me in for dinner with them.”

He sighed, recalling those warm scenes. So clearly he remembered the atmosphere of those lovely homes, so close and warm.

“I’d compliment some dish or other and they’d be sure to write the recipe for me before I left. They were each of them like family for a few days or a week. It reminded me … it reminded me of home. Back when it _was_ home.”

“Well, for now, maybe I can help you find that feeling, be your home for a little while,” he said gently before kissing his cheek. “I know it’s not the same, but I’ll be yours, and we can share those things still.”

Geralt smiled and turned his head to look at him. “Thank you, and I’m sorry for sounding down again. I’m really fine. I don’t mean that my home became hostile or anything—that isn’t why I left. It’s just that everyone wanted me to settle down and marry before I had time to settle into my new life as the family head.”

He took out a handful of recipes and flipped through them, pausing now and then at the more familiar cards. Mixed with the cards were the poems he’d mentioned, as well as notes, jokes, and old stories copied down. “These are another kind of legacy, you know. A lot of stories were lost that I’ll never get a chance to hear again. I was still in mourning when my advisors arranged everything. I simply couldn’t adjust quick enough.”

Jaskier frowned at that and looked over the cards. It wasn’t fair, arranged marriages rarely were, but being hurried into one after losing some of your family seemed entirely unjust.

“They shouldn’t have expected you to adjust immediately, it wasn’t fair to you. You deserved your time,” he said gently before squeezing him slightly. “Politics love to ask us to abandon our hearts in the work, but I could never bring myself to do it either.”

“It was poor timing. I wasn’t ready to be hurtled into the arms of a stranger for the rest of my days. It felt like they wanted to replace my family with another. To them it was advantageous timing, as if a new family would be what I needed, but I only pushed back harder against it.” In the last year, meeting with families, watching small wedding ceremonies in the orchard, he'd come to realize his hesitation with greater clarity.

“Can you imagine standing at the altar, looking out in the crowd and seeing not a single friendly relation? There’d be an empty chair where my mother would have sat, a handkerchief to her eyes. At the feast, another empty chair where my father would stand for his speech. I didn’t want to see that. I wasn’t ready for it and I didn’t want to cry in front of a stranger and make a scene in front of all the peerage. I couldn’t stand up there without any kind of love behind me.”

Jaskier’s heart ached for the man. He couldn’t imagine the pain he was almost put through. “They should have never pushed you to go through with it right away. That was cruel, on all sides,” he said gently. “Losing your family is a suffering I can’t imagine, and I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m sure they were kind and loving people.”

“They were kind for our kind. I loved them very much. It doesn’t hurt as much as it did then, and being on my own has taught me how to get on by myself. I’ve found happy things since. Besides, I haven’t been put through anything in the end. I’m out, free, and doing what pleases me.”

He smiled and laced his fingers through Jaskier’s. “It’s been a long time since I last saw my poster. Perhaps they’ve finally given up looking. I could really be free now, and my heart is free to do with as I wish.”

Jaskier smiled faintly at that and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Will you let me have it then while that is the only heart I have to carry? I want to be yours for as long as I can be, Geralt,” he said gently. “I’ll do what I can to keep you safe if they come looking for you.”

“You already have it, Jaskier,” he replied. “But leave the trouble to me; I won’t have you fighting my battles and getting caught up in the mess. I was promised to a family of influence, and I don’t want retribution falling down on you if it comes. But let’s not talk of such things. Come closer, and let’s pick out something to make for our picnic, shall we?”

Jaskier sighed softly but nodded. Still, he doubted that if it came to that he would get much more than a slap on the wrist and a tighter leash, which was something he could live with.

“Which recipe is your favorite?” he asked lazily as he looked over the recipe cards.

“I don’t think toffee pudding would make much of a meal,” Geralt joked. He fingered through the cards, picking a few out and looking them over. “Do you like fishing? If we want to fish for our lunch, we can cook right on the beach. We could make sandwiches with egg just in case we don’t catch anything. There’s also some salted pork in the shed we could fry up. Take a look at these and tell me which you’d like best.”

“I can fish, but I’m not very good at it,” Jaskier said lazily as he started flipping through the cards. “I’m not sure how many of these we’ll be able to make on the beach,” he admitted as he continued to look through the cards, eventually finding a recipe for kabobs that seemed feasible. “Why don’t we try these?”

Geralt balked slightly. He cleared his throat. “I’ve, uh … I’ve never actually gotten around to making those. It’s fairly new.” It looked simple enough, but he wanted to be sure it would come out right. He’d be sharing it with Jaskier, after all.

“I’m sure we’ll be able to manage, it looks rather simple.” Jaskier hummed, before glancing up at him with a grin. “Besides, if we mess up we’ll always have the sandwiches just in case.”

“I’ll get started on packing if you make us breakfast,” Geralt bargained. His ears were faintly pink.

Jaskier nodded a bit and kissed his cheek gently before getting up and adding a log to the stove. “Eggs again?” he offered.

Geralt slipped out of bed and stretched. He rolled his head back and flexed his shoulders, taking a deep breath. “I’ll fetch some eggs. While I’m out, do you like cheese in yours? I can make a stop at the shed on my way from the hen house. Maybe I can finally catch that damn cock, then we could have roasted chicken.” He chuckled, reaching under the bed for a fresh change of clothes.

“Can I a borrow a shirt?” he asked gently as he went looking for a pan. “Oh, and cheese would be fantastic.”

After dressing, Geralt snatched another shirt from under the bed. He crept up behind Jaskier and pulled it down over his head, trapping his arms beneath. He wrapped him in a playful hug and gave him an exaggerated kiss on the cheek before heading down the ladder. “Cheese it is!” he called. Then he snatched up a basket from the wall and was out the barn door.

Jaskier pulled his arms through the sleeves as he left and moved to sit on the edge of the loft. It was going to hurt to leave this. Nobility was a gilded cage, and while he was usually lost in its gleam, Geralt was the one thing outside of it that had him straining against its walls. He could run with him, it was always an option, he could even try to give up the luxuries he was far too fond of. It was becoming less difficult to imagine that. He could be happy here, living like this, waking up and hearing Geralt’s laugh in the morning, and falling asleep against his chest every night. It was a dream come true, even if it meant he was choosing his life over his people’s prosperity.

Geralt was back in a minute with his basket loaded, ready to begin their day at last. It was the self-same basket they would use to pack up lunch for their seaside venture. After a leisurely breakfast, they made their sandwiches and packed two rather primitive fishing poles, hitching their load onto Roach’s saddle. Geralt was sure to bring along an extra blanket for when the sun went down.

In the end, they caught only one fish between them and Jaskier held it proudly from the end of his line. However, it was up to Geralt to see it cleaned up. Jaskier busied himself playing his lute, trying to ignore the squishy sounds and the sight of its guts in the sand. His lute became very useful later in the day when the seagulls tried to make off with their picnic and the entrails, but it was Roach who won the honour of the fight and drove off the most. She tried to snatch a bite of their fish as reward and they had to eat quickly to discourage her strange habit.

The evening was the best time. They sat quietly together, wrapped under the blanket, watching ships pass as they huddled together against a boulder by the fire. Despite the gulls, it had been a quiet, restful day—something they both needed quite a lot. But the sailing ships had Geralt’s mind wandering again to the port and trades and responsibilities. How he wished he might watch the ships as he’d done before, only three short years ago, with pride and delight.

Geralt sighed and leaned closer to Jaskier, feeling his warmth. “Is the trade going well back home?” he asked. “Are the people happy?”

“Things are tense in Lyria, but my people haven’t felt the tensions of the court yet,” Jaskier said gently as he settled into his side. “Most of the plans for trade have gone well, but old grudges hold firm if not well broken.”

Geralt felt some of the burden lift. “Any news from Rivia?”

“None relevant enough to share,” he said with a slight sigh. Most of the notices from Rivia were the same now anyways: apologies, delays, and thinly veiled excuses. He hardly heard anything unless it had to do with the engagement.

“No news is good news, they say.” He relaxed. It had been so long since he’d had any source of information to tell him what went on. Sure, in town there were merchants who might have news of the trade, but it was limited to the people’s news. He needed courtly news. He needed to know what went on behind those imposing, expensive doors. With a sigh, he returned to staring out to sea. Far away, another ship was making its way to port, its flag whipping in the wind. He closed his eyes. The light of the setting sun bathed the ship in black shadow, and he could not see what flag it flew, nor did he care. For one day, he wished to be allowed to drop his guard, and the day was not over. Not just yet.

Jaskier leaned closer to him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “You look far away,” he said softly as he looked out over the sea. “I just want you here; it’s not a time to worry over silly politics and faraway places. It’s hardly a time to worry at all.”

“Sorry,” Geralt murmured, trying to come back to the here and now. “There hasn’t been much time for thinking since we met. It caught up with me.”

“I figured as much, but the kingdoms can wait another day,” he said softly before lacing their fingers together. “I want to occupy your thoughts for one last night.”

Geralt flinched, then looked at Jaskier with a hint of panic in his expression. “Last?” he echoed.

He needed to break that habit soon. “I misspoke. I meant, 'let it be mine alone.'” He was used to begging those that occupied his heart to stay: stay for one more night, let him savor the last memories he had before they left him behind. It was a vicious cycle of fleeing heartache.

Geralt squeezed his hand in his. “Don’t go anywhere,” he begged. “Not yet.” Had it only been two days? They’d only just met and he couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. Was he really so weary of people leaving that this brief encounter had his heart beating like mad in his chest? Or was it because he’d met someone so extraordinary? If Jaskier told him he’d put the stars in the sky, he’d believe it.

Jaskier pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I would never leave you,” he insisted gently. He wasn’t sure if that was the truth really, he was walking the line there as he tried to make that choice himself. “They’ll have to drag me away before I’d leave you.”

“They’ll never drag you from me. I’ll fight them all and carry you off.” He slipped his other hand round the back of Jaskier’s neck and kissed him for all he was worth. “A house by the sea,” he whispered. “A garden.”

Jaskier relaxed under the touch and smiled up at him awestruck. “A love worth living for,” he said softly, a blush settling on his cheeks while he spoke.

“There it is,” Geralt whispered again, tapping Jaskier’s cheek. His thoughts were now thoroughly occupied. “You really are just … ” He sighed happily, unable to describe it.

Jaskier chuckled softly, “Breathtaking, it sounds like,” he teased gently before kissing him again. “I love the way your eyes smile.”

“Yes. I’d try to keep them open, but it’s hard when you do that.” Nevertheless, Geralt kissed him again. He settled his head against Jaskier’s neck and wrapped his arms around him. “Marry me,” he said, head full of nonsense. Before Jaskier could react, he put a hand to his lips. “Don’t respond. Don’t say anything. Just pretend with me for now.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said gently, casting his worries aside for a moment. “What would it be like if we could?” he asked softly before moving a hand to play with his hair.

“If we could, I’d take you home tonight and pack your things. We’d set out for the mills in the morning.” Geralt closed his eyes, leaning into his touch. “There’s a cottage there owned by the miller that he’s been fixing up. I’d ask to rent it from him and we’d fix up the rest ourselves. It’s away from the city and the main roads and only the miller comes and goes with his flour, and the harvesters with their grain. I’d retire and turn farmer, and we’d be married next week. Maybe I’d learn to be a smith. They’re always in need of new shoes for the horses in the mill, and for new metal works. I’d forge you a ring and we’d start a new life there, away from everything.”

Jaskier moved to lay across his lap, and closed his eyes for a moment. “How about when we get older; will we simply spend our time together as we go through life and all its seasons? Will you kiss me on every holiday and every day in between, or will we find room to squabble once some of the awe and adoration wears away? Will you love me until your last breath, and will you take it in my arms?” Jaskier rambled on before looking up at him.

Geralt placed a hand to Jaskier’s cheek, a tender smile on his face. “Yes,” he replied. “Every day. I’d look forward to every little squabble and to you letting me make them up to you after, but the adoration and awe wouldn’t go anywhere. It isn’t a false promise to say that I’ll love you till my last breath, even if I take it far from your arms. I’d make that promise now if you’d let me. But if you came with me, I’d do everything I could to ensure that it _would_ be as you say, though I wouldn’t want to die and leave you lonely.”

“I like to imagine things ending well,” Jaskier said softly, smiling back at him faintly. “I like to think that we’d grow old and happy. You might grow out that beard that’s hiding in your stubble and I’d let my hair go long again. We’d be safe and free together with only each other’s arms to hold us,” he said as he reached up to cup his cheek in his hand

Geralt’s eyes lit up as the last rays of sun crested over the horizon. “Let’s do it,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Jaskier asked gently as he let his hand fall away.

“Let’s leave. We’ll spend a week at the cottage and pretend like it’s our honeymoon. We can pack tonight and leave in the morning.” His heart beat faster at the premise. The roof of the barn was nearly fixed—his landlord wouldn’t mind him taking a holiday. Hell, he could have it fixed up before morning if he was really determined. And if they stayed maybe another day … or two … well, there was nothing much to worry about, was there?

“I—” He was about to argue but he grinned instead. “We’ll head into the city soon then; I need to wear something other than your clothes for our honeymoon,” Jaskier teased with a little chuckle. “How long will we go for?”

“A week,” he repeated, then grinned wolfishly and added, “Though I wonder how much clothing you’ll really want to be wearing. It’s our _honeymoon_. I’d have you in nothing but a ring. And I like the way this looks,” he said, fiddling with the ties of Jaskier's shirt— _his_ shirt. It was only a little too big for Jaskier. Geralt liked his shirts loose, and that preference was made even more obvious against Jaskier’s frame, though it was by no means small.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Well, I may not have much use for them, but I quite like my clothes,” he teased before pulling him into another kiss. “Maybe this time I’ll get to tame you,” he hummed again.

Geralt shivered at the promise of his words. “Fuck. Let’s get you back to the city while I can still think enough to guide Roach,” he replied, suddenly _very_ eager to get going.

Jaskier chuckled and moved from his lap. “Well, let’s be off then; we can spend the night at my place,” he offered as he rose to his feet and stretched slightly.

Geralt packed up quickly, already looking forward to it. They took a quick stop on their way to drop their picnic things off at the barn before hurrying on through the town gates. Geralt had only lingered a moment to debate bringing his swords, but he brushed the idea off. They’d be passing through again in the morning. Besides, he still had his daggers should anything happen. It was a needless worry as the streets were fairly empty in the late evening. The moon lit the road with soft light, making everything glow serenely.

Before they reached Jaskier’s domicile, Geralt stopped for a quick detour, slipping from the saddle to approach a large building with a signpost on its side. “I’ll just be a moment,” he said. “I haven’t checked the noticeboard on this side of town for a few weeks. I’ve just finished the last job on the other and I doubt they’ve taken down the post here yet. They tend to overlap between boards.”

Jaskier yawned slightly and nodded, “I’ll wait here,” he murmured softly. It was starting to get late by that point and he wanted nothing more than to settle into bed with Geralt for the night.

Geralt patted his knee before striding over to the board. There were more notices here than on the other, probably owing to the fact that mercenaries as a breed tended to find their work in bars and pubs near the gates where they could keep an eye on incoming traffic, lest they spy a familiar face passing through that happened to be on a flyer. He found his most recent jobs in the past month and removed them, revealing older postings beneath that had either been left unfulfilled or had simply been forgotten after the job was completed. Judging by how many recent jobs he’d taken on from other boards, it was the latter. Whoever was in charge of these postings obviously wasn’t keeping up much with the others.

The moment Geralt tore down the next paper, his heart stopped. It was a picture of _himself._

_Runaway, Wanted Alive by the Court of Lyria:_

_Earl Geralt Roger Eric du Haute-Bellegard of Eskalott_

He snatched the flyer from the board and stared. How long had it been posted? How many people had seen it? _Clues, Geralt_ , he thought. Rain damage. It had rained last a month ago. The oldest postings would be curled or spotted with rain. He examined the parchment carefully. It was flat, completely smooth and unmarked by rain. He felt himself begin to shake. It was new _enough._

Jaskier slowly grew impatient and let Roach walk over to Geralt’s side again. He wasn’t paying much attention to him, as sleep seemed to be eagerly pursuing him. “Are you ready to go?” he asked with a little yawn as he looked down at him.

Geralt crumpled his handful of postings into a ball so tightly nothing could be seen of their contents in his fist. He took another nervous glance at the board. If there was another flyer, it was safely hidden beneath other postings. If he wanted to know for sure, he would have to check again another time. It would be best to check the rest of the postings throughout the city, find out whether there were others, and where they appeared. If there was a pattern to it, he could find out where the postman had travelled from, and hopefully how long ago they had been through.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. Hurriedly, he climbed back behind the saddle and started Roach walking again.

Jaskier leaned back against his chest. “Is everything alright? You sound nervous,” he said gently as he looked up at him. He had an inkling of what it probably was, but he didn’t want it to be true.

“Saw a poster for one of the Dredge,” he lied. “The memory of the fight put me on edge. I’ll be fine.”

Jaskier nodded a bit. “Well, hopefully someone gets them taken care of soon, they’re all just brutal thugs,” he mumbled.

“Maybe I could take the job up when we get back. It might even be fun.” He kept his tone light, trying to put both Jaskier and himself at ease. He tried not to think about the crumpled parchment in his fist. First thing when they got inside, he was throwing it on the fire.

“Maybe, but no one here hunts them,” he mumbled softly as his house came into view. “I would be worried for you during that job.”

“Of course nobody would post a bounty for _him_ ,” Geralt left the who implied, “and I suppose the association enough works as protection for the rest. I still don’t like the idea of them lingering like vultures nearby. Let’s hope they pass through while we’re gone.”

“I hope so too,” Jaskier said gently before getting down from Roach’s back and making his way over to the door to unlock it. “Do you mind if we pack in the morning? I’m tired.”

“I don’t mind,” Geralt said. “I’ll just go stable Roach around back then. Start the fire for us?”

“Of course,” he said with another yawn. Jaskier let himself in and went off to light the fire in the stove that rested in the corner of the room. He was quick to settle into bed after that and waited for Geralt.

In the stable, Geralt took a minute to compose himself while removing the saddle. He braced himself against Roach’s smooth coat, squeezing the parchment tighter. “It’s only one,” he whispered. For all he knew, they’d _only_ posted one and it had been immediately buried by other postings, but that was wishful thinking. He gave Roach’s mane a few calming strokes before tramping his way back to Jaskier’s door.

Inside, he breathed deeply. The familiar scent of lemon and chamomile grounded him. It was comforting and it put him at ease. He removed his boots at the door and trudged with them up the stairs. In the bedroom, he walked over to the stove, kneeling to toss the parchment inside. Crouched there, he waited, watching until it was burned to ash. With a sigh of relief, he dropped his boots and made his way to the bed. He shrugged out of his clothes and slipped under the sheets, pulling Jaskier close.

He pressed a kiss to Geralt’s chest and settled beside him. “Sleep well, darling,” he mumbled softly before slowly drifting off and falling asleep in his arms.

He wished he could honour that request. It was late into the night when Geralt’s thoughts finally allowed him to rest. Habit and anxiety would not allow him to sleep until it was almost nearing dawn, even with Jaskier’s warmth and calming breath to soothe him. His was an empty sleep, and he did not wake until late morning.

* * *

Jaskier woke up first and let Geralt sleep in a little longer. The man seemed so peaceful like that, and Jaskier couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his forehead before going downstairs to start breakfast. Well, he would have if there wasn’t a letter sitting just inside the door, bearing his family’s seal.

He sighed heavily and brought it back upstairs with him, discarding the envelope in the fire once he’d freed the letter. Geralt had already expressed his dislike of his family and there was no reason for them to have that conversation yet.

Jaskier sat back on his side of the bed and started reading. His heart sank with every word. It wasn’t just a summons: it was a summons with an escort, one that he knew wouldn’t allow him out of their sight, let alone in Geralt’s arms.

Geralt had heard Jaskier moving about the room and began to stir. He was still tired, but he wanted Jaskier more than he wanted the extra sleep. Thankfully, Jaskier was by his side again. Geralt snaked an arm around his waist, pressed the side of his head to his hip. “Morning,” he murmured, voice gravely with sleep.

“Good morning,” Jaskier said gently, moving a hand from the paper to card through Geralt’s hair. “How did you sleep?”

Geralt offered a noncommittal grunt in response. He opened his bleary eyes upon hearing the ruffle of paper. “What’s that?” he asked.

“I’m being called home,” Jaskier said gently. “It sounds like my fiancé’s mind has been made for him.”

Geralt opened his eyes wider and sat up on one arm. “What?” he said. He was surely still asleep. This was just the sort of trick his brain would provide him after his fright last night.

“There’ll be an escort for me here before the week is out...” Jaskier said softly before folding the paper again and setting it in his lap. “I wish we had more time.”

Geralt dug his fingernails into his palms, making sure he was quite awake. The timing of it! “What will you tell him?” he asked. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. The moment Jaskier spoke, he knew there’d be no packing, no running off to the countryside. There was a resignation in his voice, and yet he held out hope. Would Jaskier ask him to leave?

“What can I tell him, Geralt?” Jaskier mumbled softly. “I have half a mind to tear into him the second I see him, but I understand why he held off. I—I don’t want to leave you, but I don’t have much say, and the little that I do doesn’t matter much.”

Geralt covered Jaskier’s hand with his. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Does it say why he held off? Couldn’t you—can’t he be reasoned with? If he’s hesitated to honour the engagement, maybe there’s hope of calling it off. What’s so important about it that you can’t make a choice?”

“It’s about more than titles, and it was arranged before either of us were born. My people benefit from the union, it’s my duty to follow through. He held off for selfish reasons that I was never told, and his family has been trying to get a hold on him since then. I guess they finally reached his ear.” Jaskier said with a heavy sigh.

Geralt stared a moment longer, waiting for a ‘but’ that never came. His heart sank low and it felt like there was a great hollow in his chest. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders and pulled him close, as if by holding him in his arms he might stop him from leaving.

It wasn’t fair. Some prick had been promised Jaskier since birth and had snubbed him, evidently for an unreasonable amount of time. _Jaskier,_ who could make a stranger give away his heart in less than a day. Jaskier, who by the sound of it, the man didn’t even want. But Geralt wanted him. Gods above, he _wanted_ him, and he was sure he knew what Jaskier wanted too.

Geralt’s last two lovers didn’t want him enough. When the time came to leave town and he asked them to come along, they made him go alone. He’d been nothing more than a good time. Because of his preference for rough play, for his need to be on the move, they considered him to be the type who didn’t settle down. Despite his best efforts, despite his worshipful attention, none believed it. But he knew in the way Jaskier looked at him, the way he spoke and kissed him that he truly wanted him. For him. And it hurt.

“How long do you have?” he asked. He’d already forgotten.

“Five days at best,” Jaskier said softly as he leaned back into his chest, “the last of which I’ll need to use to pack. My family’s men don’t like to wait longer than necessary, and don’t particularly enjoy my company; they wouldn’t care if things got left behind.”

Geralt fingered the dark bruises on his neck. It wouldn’t even be enough time for the lightest of them to heal. “Five days … ” he repeated. A lot could happen in five days. His whole world turned upside down in one night; five days was plenty of time. He closed his eyes. “Give them to me,” he said. “Please.”

“They were promised to you before I realized it was all I had, and they will remain that way,” Jaskier said lightly, letting his head fall to the side ever so slightly at the touch.

“Don’t say it like they’re given out of pity. Tell me it’s what you want.”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted Geralt, all this talk of home and duty has me...” He sighed softly and tried to pull together an explanation. He was upset and scared, and it was easier to hide that behind the mask he wore in court than admit it. He fell back into the chill of it easily, even though it wasn’t something he wanted Geralt to see. “I feel small in comparison.”

Geralt smoothed a hand down his arm comfortingly. He bit his tongue. “I’m sorry. I know. I just—it’s the same with me. I don’t mean to take it out on you.” Once more, he’d become defensive, snappish. He’d let his emotions cloud his judgement, and this time of the darker sort. He kissed Jaskier’s shoulder apologetically but did not rest his head against it for fear of looking down. If he looked down, tears threatened to spill out from his eyes.

Jaskier wiped at his own eyes quickly, before tears could fall. “If I could change things I would. I would be yours the moment you asked, no hesitation, no shadow of doubt in my mind,” he said softly.

Geralt wanted to ask, but knew it would be cruel to both of them. He rethought his position of ‘After.’ Perhaps if he was not caught he might continue to see Jaskier. It was a marriage of convenience. If the man didn’t care about Jaskier or what he did, he might not mind being cuckholded, as long as it was kept tidy behind closed doors. There were plenty of peers with such arrangements. Lyria was dangerous for him, but he would find a way as long as he could. He would do it for even an hour more of Jaskier’s company.

“What sort of man is he?” he asked.

“Geralt, I don’t want to think about this for the next few days, I just want you. I want to enjoy the last of my freedoms with the one I have given my heart to so freely,” he insisted gently, trying to pull Geralt’s focus back to him instead of his future.

Geralt sighed. As if he’d be able to think of anything else. “What shall we do?” he asked. How would they make the most of their time?

“Spend the days together? I don’t want to share your attention if I can help it, and I want as many memories of you as possible,” Jaskier offered.

“Then let’s make another one now,” Geralt said. He pushed Jaskier gently against the headboard and crawled onto his lap, giving him a desperate kiss. He’d make every moment last, commit it all to memory. And maybe there was still time to change his mind. Maybe this time he could be enough.

Jaskier was more than happy to oblige him, and by the end of it he was more than ready to fall back asleep. Geralt was generous and eager, and Jaskier was more than willing to indulge in it while he could.

Geralt waited until Jaskier’s breath was uniform, then he slipped away and dressed, not daring to leave a kiss behind. He had to hurry. There was much to do and very little time to do it.

Without even breakfast, Geralt saddled Roach and took off. He kept to back streets, more cautious than before. He started first at the country gate, intent to start searching from the usual boards he was most familiar with and make his way through town. He decided also to return for his swords. It was too much of a risk to leave them at home if he intended to stay with Jaskier. However, as he crested the hill that lead to the barn, he reined Roach back.

There were two men leaving the barn, speaking with his landlord. Men who wore the Lyrian crest. And it was not merely the crest of Lyria, but that of the family of Lettenhove. These men served the Pankratz estate. And they were holding his swords.

Geralt turned Roach around and hurried back into town. They _knew_. But he couldn’t let them see. For all they knew, he wasn’t there at all. He tried to tell himself that there were many reasons to find his swords in the barn. He might’ve sold them in lean times. Nobody could truly know if he’d kept them. It was a shit lie, and he knew it.

To his horror, the notice board had not one, but three flyers bearing his face. They were _new_ and he hesitated to tear them down. If they disappeared, they would know he’d been through. He heard voices approach and rode on quickly to the next place. There, he found not only more flyers, but more men bearing the same crest. He returned to the backstreets, trying to navigate his way back to Jaskier’s domicile, even as he tried to navigate the worst of his thoughts.

He’d been to the board near the east gate, up on the high end of town where the roads went uphill. No flyers yet, but he knew they’d be coming soon. From his vantage point, he had a view of the tallest ships' flags. He recognized one of them, having seen it sailing in only last evening. The ship flew the flag of Lyria in all its glory. It had brought the men with it, and it was a ship of no mean size. Even now, he spotted the familiar uniform cloaking the shoulders of several men below, and the sight made him almost dizzy with dread.

How much time had passed? An hour? He had to return before the men reached their side of town, or else he’d never be able to sneak back inside. If he ventured out again, he’d need a cloak. That would be suspicious. Though autumn would be upon them soon, the days were still warm, even by the seaside. He could not venture out during the day without arousing curiosity.

If he was caught out now, he’d never get word back to Jaskier. To his horror, he realized the state he’d left him in. He couldn’t be allowed to wake up alone and think he’d stayed for a last fuck and run off. He gave Roach’s side a quick squeeze, and they were off. As they went, he sent a silent prayer out into the world that he might arrive safely, and that Jaskier might yet be sleeping.

Sadly that wasn’t the case. Jaskier stirred at the sound of knocking on his door. He attempted to ignore it at first, his thoughts still too addled from sleep that he just wanted to push the noise from his mind. He was surprised to find Geralt’s half of the bed cold, but it was safe enough to assume that Roach had need of him. When the knocking continued Jaskier finally gave in and pulled on a dressing gown to go answer the door.

As the heavy wood swung open he was revealed to the man on his step. Jaskier looked thoroughly disheveled, bites and bruises littered his neck and trailed down his chest where the dressing gown parted before being held closed at his waist, and his reluctance was more than clear in his movements.

“Ah.” He rubbed his eyes slightly and finally took in the man before him. “Sir Vesemir, I can’t say I was expecting you.”

“And I was expecting to see much less of you,” Vesemir replied, expression one of discomfort. “In the habit of opening doors half naked now?”

“Generally no, but I hadn’t intended on opening the door at all this morning, much less dress any further than this. It seems like you might have …” He hesitated to say good news. It was far from it in his opinion. “News.”

Vesemir eyed the marks in his loose robe, brow furrowed. “I hope those are from a fight,” he said gruffly.

“I’m certain you know they’re not. Besides, it’s not like I owe my betrothed purity of any sort; he threw away his chance at that ages ago,” Jaskier huffed.

“Forgive me; it’s not my place to question.” Vesemir gave a slight bow. “Being at sea has made me forget my manners, and I’m afraid it’s been a busy morning. May I come in, Your Grace?”

“You may,” he said as he stepped aside to let him enter before making his way to the sitting room and lounging in a plush chair.

Vesemir stood before him on the rug and nodded his head once more, a shallower bow of courtesy. “His Lordship, the Earl of Eskalott, will be returning to Rivia shortly to see the engagement honoured, as promised. We apologize for the delay in preparation, but his affairs have been sorted and we are ready to move forward.”

They both knew the truth of the matter, that the Earl had run off and now had been found, but they did not speak it out loud. At least, Vesemir would not admit it while fulfilling his duty.

“So, what has my fool of a fiancé been up to while my name was dragged through the mud. While our people suffered. Enjoying wine in Toussaint, having some sort of pleasant affair in Nilfgaard, I’m curious really.” He was lashing out at this point. Things kept stacking up against him, and someone needed to answer for it.

Vesemir hesitated. His first instinct was to defend his lord, and to scold young men who wielded sharp tongues. Before becoming an advisor, he’d been a fencing teacher and dealt with cattish youths for many years. But he reined himself in. One did _not_ scold dukes. They could say what they liked about earls, as much as it bothered him.

He cleared his throat. “He’s been travelling,” he answered. In all honesty, it was as much as they knew. The farmer who tipped them off knew not many details about Geralt’s day to day exploits, only details about the roof repair and the care of his animals. “Evidently he’s taken up carpentry. I’ve heard he still has the horse in good keeping.”

Jaskier scoffed at that. “More fond of a wedding gift than me, isn’t that sweet.” He was frustrated, and insecure. None of it was fair. He had done everything he was supposed to and he still found himself scorned.

He poured himself a glass of wine from the decanter beside him. “I’m surprised it took so long to find him; clearly he’s arrogant, so I doubted he’d be all that careful,” he muttered before taking a drink.

Vesemir steeled himself as the insults piled on. “He was always a serious man, even when he was young. Whether arrogant or not, he’s strategic. He _did_ sent the lute, even if he did not stay; that shows his careful thinking.” He remembered it well. It was Geralt’s apology, though none of them realized it until he had gone.

“Oh yes, abandoning your betrothed a month before the wedding is careful. You heard them in the courts Vesemir, you know exactly why I’m upset. The amount of time spent debating my _inadequacies_ —it’s infuriating! I’m not exactly fond of the idea of marrying the man either but at least I had it in me not to abandon him,” he snapped.

“I know the gossip, but you cannot heed the words of the lower court,” he replied, forgetting titles for a moment. He saw a young man in turmoil, much like one he knew so well, and that took precedent over manners. “They look for every possible flaw they can find in their betters to bring them down. Nothing I say can change what’s happened, but you must know that no insult was meant. It is not in His Lordship’s nature to be cruel.”

Vesemir sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew they’d been pushing. The marriage had been a sudden decision, not at all as they’d originally intended. For Melitele’s sake, they hadn’t even had a formal introduction when the engagement was announced publicly. It was not the way things were done—not at _all—_ but one did not argue with nobility.

With the death of the late lord and lady, the Eskalott trade needed to secure the estate, and the Pankratzes in Lettenhove saw fit to at last secure the fine trade routes that had been steadily growing in profit over the years. The original plan was cast aside. They were meant to meet shortly after Jaskier had finished his schooling in Oxenfurt and had time to undergo a mentorship to learn the family trade, when he might offer a more introspective view of the trade delegations. Then, not two years into his private study, the late Lord and Lady Eskalott had been taken in a storm, leaving the province out of balance. Though Geralt had studied trade for many years, he did not have the practical experience required to run the business alone. After the wedding, it was decided that the Duke and Duchess of Lettenhove would oversee things until Jaskier finished his mentorship and could aid his husband’s care of the land’s trade.

He’d seen the apprehension. Geralt had been wholly uninterested in the wedding plans being made all around him. His entire countenance was pensive, his mind far away. For so long, Vesemir thought it was the people’s well-being that worried Geralt. He’d be putting their lives in the hands of foreigners, however noble they might be. His stoicism made him difficult to read. Vesemir had scolded himself for weeks after his disappearance for not paying better attention.

They’d not allowed him a proper mourning period before throwing him to the altar like a pig to the slaughter. When married, he’d go to Lyria: to a strange land to live among strangers, without even the familiarity of his home estate to bring him comfort. It had taken him three years to understand, and by then it was too late. He’d run off to even stranger lands and stranger people in his fear. It was the first time Vesemir had ever known him to act impulsively, and it was the most foolish choice he’d ever made.

“That boy,” he muttered. For that was what Geralt was to him, even now.

Jaskier took another drink and attempted to pull himself back together. "I want to meet him before we're shown to the court and stood at the altar. I want to meet him alone," he mumbled over the rim of his glass. His wounds were old, but deep, and now they were torn open once more, and he knew he needed to talk to the one who made them before any deal was concluded. "I don't care how good a man you claim him to be, I need him to know exactly what he did."

“The ship will take two weeks to return to Rivia. You will have plenty of time once we’re on board to tell him all that has transpired.”

“My family has separate summons for me; I’ll be returning home to Lyria before anything else, so the earl will simply have to wait for me,” Jaskier said coldly.

Vesemir frowned in confusion. “By what means? You can’t be taking a _coach_.” Apart from being a more dangerous means of travel, it would also take longer to arrive than by sailing up the straight. Part of the appeal of Rivia’s trade were the deep straights and rivers which fed into lake Eskalott. It provided transport for trade in all the great cities across the land and was one of the most efficient means of travel. “It’ll be a month of travel, at best.”

“My things are being sent back home on a trade vessel, but I’m riding home with my guards. It should take us three weeks at most to get to Lyria.” He sighed before taking a drink. “I haven’t seen my home country in far too long and the ride will be good for that.”

“Please, forgive me for taking the liberty, but take one of my men with you. They’re well trained and will provide better protection than an ordinary _guard._ I hear tell that there’s been some trouble on the eastern road, and your grace would be a target in such conveyance.”

Upon arrival at port, Vesemir had heard news of Drache Dagger’s latest victim: a baronet, not a day’s ride outside of town. He’d known Lyrian guards and he didn’t trust their ability. He’d known _Drache_ in the time before, when he was nothing more than another local scamp stirring up trouble and getting in fights. He’d watched him win against young men he’d trained. He’d trained them better since.

Jaskier groaned softly. “If I hear another word about that dragon-clawed fool, I’ll cut my ears off,” he huffed. He doubted he'd run into too much trouble from the man; it was clear that his attentions had mostly shifted to Geralt, which wasn’t much better of course, but it did mean he wouldn’t have to explain himself to his guards.

“I didn’t mention any names,” Vesemir replied tartly, “but the fact that you understood the danger is point enough. Don’t be stubborn; take the extra security. It is my duty as guardian and advisor to guard and advise my lord and all things pertaining to him, therefore it would be irresponsible of me, left in his stead, to allow you to go forth with inadequate protection. If nothing comes of it, then taking on a spare guard will be no extra burden, but I must _insist.”_

“I never denied the extra help, I’ve just had my fill of the red cloaked bastards,” he mumbled before taking a sip of his wine. The way Vesemir talked had him feeling like a child being scolded before the court again. Damned Rivians. Apparently all of them knew exactly how to get to him. “I would prefer to meet this guard before he joins my traveling party. Hopefully that can be arranged.”

Vesemir looked pointedly at the door and cleared his throat.

“If he’s outside he’s welcome to join us,” Jaskier said as he watched the man.

“I’ll fetch him then, if you’ll permit me.” Vesemir was already at the door. When he opened it, two shadows fell through the doorway. Vesemir signaled one inside, whispering the way a father might instruct a small child to be on their best behaviour before meeting a colleague. Jaskier could hear the guard snort all the way from his chair.

“My best fighter, Eskel of Eskalott,” Vesemir announced.

“My lord,” Eskel said.

Vesemir swiftly nudged the side of his foot.

“Your Grace,” he corrected, bowing slightly.

“And the other outside?” Jaskier asked after looking Eskel over. “Don’t misunderstand me, I’m certain they’re both decent guards, but I’m curious.” He hummed before taking another sip from his nearly emptied glass. “And it is certainly convenient that your land and name are so close in title. It has a nice ring, maybe suitable for a song even.”

Eskel groaned. Evidently, it was a joke he’d heard _quite_ often.

Vesemir shot him a look again as he turned once more toward the door. His voice was low, but Jaskier could swear he heard something along the lines of, “Get your ass in here—and be _polite_.”

Another, grouchier face appeared in the sitting room. To say it was grouchier was a wonder, as the deep scars on Eskel’s own face lent him an already stern expression, even when relaxed. This new man paused in his muttering to feign a smile, bow, and greet their host with a flat, “Your Grace.”

“Lambert,” Vesemir said with equal enthusiasm. He’d hoped to leave him outside. He didn’t have the best attitude, whether in noble company or lowborn.

Jaskier chuckled softly at the presentation and let his glass dangle in his hand. “Are all Rivians rough around the edges or do I just have poor luck?” he hummed lazily as he looked over the pair.

They would both serve their purposes, so his decision would hardly matter in the end, but he was simply enjoying the show.

“You see, I’d been warned about Rivian manners for most of my life but I doubted that even your guardsmen would fall out of line so easily.” His tongue was sharp this morning, and without Geralt’s affections to dull it, it was as quick as any blade handled by the hunter.

“And I thought Lyrians were supposed to be _lyrical_ and mannerly,” Lambert muttered.

Vesemir smacked his arm quickly, also acting much too familiar, but it was an instinctual response built by many years of scolding.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “I like his tongue; he’d make an interesting companion,” he hummed lazily before refilling his glass.

Vesemir looked askance, his eyes near boggled. “Your Grace, I would urge you to take _Eskel_ with you. He’s the better fighter of the two. More _disciplined,”_ he added, looking at Lambert from the corner of his eye.

Lambert crossed his arms. “I’m not travelling with the brat,” he said, not even masking his distaste.

Eskel smacked him this time, looking properly scandalized.

“It’s not the first time I’ve been called that in the past handful of hours,” Jaskier hummed lazily. “And I think you will be. If I’m not mistaken, these two are part of my fiancé’s guard?” he asked as he looked back at Vesemir.

Vesemir nodded, even as he stared at Lambert. If Geralt heard he’d sent Lambert along with him, he’d kill him whether he despised the Pankratzes or not. Even _he_ knew better than to _actively_ stir up trouble, and what was Lambert if not an active provocation? Leaving was a passive insult, however severe it was.

“Exactly why I should be in charge of _him_ , not His G _race,”_ Lambert emphasized. “That was the plan, wasn’t it? And why should Eskel go either? Don’t we need him to catch G—ow!”

Eskel smacked him once more, this time on the back of his head. “The Lyrian guard is in charge of most of the acquisition. You won’t need me.”

“Would you two _behave?”_ Vesemir hissed under his breath.

Jaskier took a sip of his wine and didn’t try to hide his chuckle. “I find it quite entertaining actually,” he assured the advisor lazily. “And if you were better behaved I probably would have gone with Eskel. He’s more my type anyways,” he said shamelessly even though it was an empty statement. “But you seem to like to talk, and I think I’d like to get a better idea of who exactly my betrothed is on the journey, so you, _sadly,_ are the better candidate.” Venom dripped from his words, as he settled back into politics and verbal chess as easily as he had in his home.

Lambert’s face soured as if he’d swallowed a lemon whole. “You can’t be serious.”

Vesemir looked pale. “Really,” he added, “you can’t be.”

“I told you to leave him on the boat,” Eskel grumbled. He placed a hand to his forehead. Already he had a headache just imagining the journey that lay ahead. “We’re getting thrown in a cell. In three weeks’ time, we’ll be awaiting a trial, I guarantee it.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “It’s more likely that his head will be brought home on a pike if he tries anything. Lettenhovians are quite protective, but I’m sure you knew that. Besides, I’ll have my men, and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”

Jaskier wished Geralt would return in that instant. He swore one of the men would die of shock if his lover decided to show his face. Besides, he was a far better man than his fiancé.

Lambert scoffed. “It’s ‘Lettenhovens,’ actually,” he corrected. And he’d like to see them try.

“Last time I checked, I was the one born and raised there, in its courts, governing its people; I know my own identity.”

“Whatever. That’s what they’re called in _Rivia.”_

“I’d get that pike ready,” Eskel said, knowing _damn_ well it was decidedly _not._

Vesemir looked too tired now to argue further.

“I’ll have to ask an educated Rivian then.” Jaskier sighed before taking a drink. “Vesemir, I assume they’ll stay with you until I depart?”

Eskel actually chuckled at the jab and the glare it elicited from his friend.

Vesemir stepped forward before any more damage could be done. “I’ll send the guard of your choice when the Lyrian guards arrive to fetch you. Please consider your choice carefully before then.” He bowed lower than before. When he stood up, he looked exhausted to his core and his eyes were empty. Gods preserve him.

“I wish you well with the husband hunting,” Jaskier said as he waved them off before settling into his seat and finishing off the bottle of wine.

And then another. Geralt hadn’t come back yet, and night was beginning to fall. He tried to convince himself it was fine, that he was simply caught up at the farm, or doing a quick job, anything other than what his mind wouldn’t let go of. He wasn’t being left again. He was certain of that. Geralt wouldn’t dare leave him in the morning hours, alone to face the last week of his freedom harboring yet another heart break.

That line of reasoning worked until noon the following day. Then he was certain something had to be wrong and stole away to the barn to find nothing. It looked like no one had lived there at all, and then, it took all Jaskier had to get back to his home before letting grief wash over him. He stayed in bed the whole day after that, and tried not to pity himself, but he found himself licking at his wounds anyways.

* * *

Geralt had seen Vesemir and his guard outside of Jaskier’s door when he arrived on the street. He nearly fell off his horse in shock. “What the fuck are they here for?” he hissed, driving Roach back into an alley. He dismounted and signaled for her to stay. It was unwise, but he crept closer, trying for a better view. Were they just going door to door with his picture, asking after him? Jaskier would _never_ turn him in. Gods above, he hoped he was right in thinking so.

Jaskier was a Lyrian, certainly, but he wouldn’t harden his heart if he learned who he was. He wasn’t that kind of man. At least, he could tell himself as much. There was no knowing how desperately his disappearance had affected relations between their provinces. He ducked back into the alley as a pair of Lyrian guards came marching down the street. They’d already begun their patrol.

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered. It had happened before in anther town that he’d nearly been caught. There had been a Lyrian on every corner waiting for him. He’d only managed to escape by bribing a horse breeder to let him under his wagon, Roach in tow along with his other stock. She’d managed to blend in perfectly, her Lyrian saddle hidden among the rest.

“Oh, dear. Having trouble are we, Earl Eskalott?”

Geralt whirled around, eyes wide to take in the unwelcomed sight of Drache at the end of the alley. "This is not the time, Drache," he said. "If you want a rematch, I'll shave the rest of your head another day."

Drache tsked at him lazily and a pair of red cloaks filled the other end of the alley, blocking his exit.

“Oh, no, I’m here to make sure you never see that flower of yours again,” he hummed as he played with his dagger. “Let’s see, this can go one of two ways: either you go willingly, or we take you in just alive enough to collect the bounty. But that’s up to you. It’s a shame really. I had hoped to catch you with the boy on your arm, have him watch as I hauled you off to a fate he wasn’t a part of.”

Geralt pulled the daggers from his boots and braced himself for combat. There weren’t that many of them. His best fighters would still be sore after only a day’s rest. Granted, he had that disadvantage as well, but it was something he was used to.

“If he was here, you wouldn’t have a chance of coming out alive. You’re lucky you caught me without him,” he spat.

He watched one of the Dredge step forward to secure his horse and scowled. That one would be the first dead, he promised himself.

“See, you thought this was going to be a fight.” Drache chuckled before a half dozen more thugs filed into the space. “I won’t soil my hands with you again, but they will, gladly.”

Drache stepped back a bit further as the others stepped up to grab hold of Geralt.

Geralt’s blood ran cold as the footsteps echoed in the alley. Six on one side, two on the other. If he broke through the two, it would only lead him out onto the street with the Lyrians, never mind Vesemir. He shifted his weight, trying to think quickly which path was wisest. If spotted, he’d be taken in without much damage, but he’d be caught without a doubt. If he decided to go forward, he’d have to deal not only with Drache, but with six other men, and he was sure there were more waiting beyond him.

“Roach,” he said, voice deceptively calm.

Roach flicked her ears toward him as the man reached for her reins.

“Kick,” he commanded.

In the cramped alley, Roach turned and kicked the man at her side. His skull hit the wall with a sickening _crack._ The men leapt to action at once as Geralt rushed toward Roach, leaping onto her back.

Drache tallied his men quickly, and their voices rose as they chased the man out of the alley, leaving their wounded fellow to bleed out on the cobblestone street.

Drache was calling for the guards, that much was clear, and his men were in close pursuit. Well, as close as they could manage with Geralt astride his horse. Now they were trying to get him in a dead end, box him in so he had to submit to a greater force.

Geralt hurtled blindly towards the nearest city gate. He would send word to Jaskier later. Right now, his primary concern was ensuring he’d find a place safe enough _to_ get word to him. If he was caught now, he knew the likelihood of having any last requests granted, whether by Drache’s dagger or by Vesemir’s judgement.

It was difficult to keep a firm grip on the reins as he held a dagger in each hand, but he had no choice. He had to be ready to fight at any moment. Already, he could see red from the corner of his eyes, poking out from side streets in pursuit.

He turned onto the main road, Lyrians be damned. It was the fastest way to get out of the city. On the wider roads, he was less likely to be trapped by a tumbling barrel or a winched rope.

“Come on, Roach,” he pleaded. “Run, girl.”

As soon as the gate was in sight he heard it: the rattling of chains and the shouting of orders coming from the guard house that rested beside it. The door started to fall shut, slowly at first, but just as Geralt thought he could, with a prayer, just skip under the gate if he ducked low, the chain was released and the gate slammed down before him. They'd been only two strides away.

Drache pushed his way to the front of his group, which was now flanked by men dressed in the Pankratz livery.

“Well, that was quite the chase, Earl, but you don’t need me to tell you that. I assume you’ll come quietly now that that’s out of your system,” he taunted.

Roach bucked at the sudden blockade, and Geralt lost one of his daggers in the attempt to steady her. He tried to count the men as more rushed up the street. He lost his number and knew it was pointless to count again.

As Roach cantered nervously in place, Geralt’s heart gave a final leap. Three familiar figures were coming up the hill. Even from so far away, he knew them. The noise had likely alerted them, and there was only one trouble that would cause such a stir in the city that day.

Geralt’s knuckles turned white as he squeezed the reins. “I’ll kill you for this,” he swore. Somehow, he’d find a way.

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart. But I still have unfinished business,” Drache purred as the captain of the men stepped forwards and reluctantly handed off the reward.

“Dismount your horse, we’re heading back into town,” the captain said as guards stood at either side of the man. “This doesn’t need to be difficult, just walk with us.”

Geralt slapped away a hand one of the men offered before slipping from Roach’s back. Another came forward to collect his dagger, but Geralt shoved past him. His dagger raised, he glared at Drache. “What business?” he asked, growling low in his chest, advancing.

Drache put his blade to Geralt’s throat. “I need a new trophy,” he said bluntly before shoving him back and retreating with his men into the city.

Geralt roared and lurched forward, but the Lyrian guards subdued him. “Bastard! If you touch one hair on his head, I’ll rip off your filth-ridden cock and _feed_ it to you! Arrest him! You want me to be an earl, fine! By the order of the Earl of Eskalott, I command you to arrest him for crimes against the estate! I want him drawn and quartered! I want him hanged! I want his foul head rent from his shoulders!”

“Earl, you have no power here,” one of the guards said gently as they tugged him along. “We would gladly kill the man, but that may mean war with Redania; something neither kingdom can afford.”

“So he can do as he pleases, kill lower ranking peers all the livelong day without consequence? You _know_ as well as I what he does out on the roads.” He jerked in vain against their grip, but none of them men would give out. “Please. At least allow me to beg for an escort. My friend is noble born. Drache has a vendetta against him. I beg you, take him from the city and lead him home. If you do that, I swear I will go with you, no more fighting, no more fuss.”

They paused for a moment, and glanced back at him. “What’s his name?” a guard asked gently. “I’ll see what can be done. We could possibly spare a few men, but not for very long, and they would need housing and other such things to stay.”

Geralt sighed, lowering his head. “His name is Jaskier. He’s a bard who lives on the main east road, across from the guardsman’s post and notice board. He frequents the taverns around town in the evening, busking. Take whatever pay you need from my savings—I saw you raid my barn today.” He hesitated then asked, “Could you send him a message from me?”

“I’ll have you write him a letter, and I’ll take that to him,” the guard said gently. “I’m sorry about this, truly. I had hoped you would return to Rivia before they brought us in for the hunt, but things are starting to grow desperate.”

Geralt blanched. “What’s happened?” he asked. His heart which had begun to settle picked up again with fear. “My people,” he urged.

“Nothing serious yet, but there’s been a push to fill your place more permanently, and that would cause an uproar through both of our lands.” The guard sighed. “We needed to find you before a legitimate claim was made to your lands.”

Geralt slumped, hardly relieved, but it was not dire news. “ … Are they well?” he asked, guilt tightening his throat.

“They are,” he assured him as they approached the port.

“Why couldn’t they just take over the estate and leave me out of it?” Geralt muttered. But he knew: that was not the way things were done. There would be protests of wrongful acquisition. As the ship came in sight, the guards finally released his arms, sure of the safety in their numbers that he could not escape. Not that he meant to.

“How long before it sails?”

“Three days,” the guard said, leading him up on deck. “I've just seen Vesemir and the others duck into the cabin. I won’t walk you in there, but good luck,” he offered as they started to load Roach.

“Be gentle with her!” Geralt called as another guard escorted him toward the door to the inner decks. “And if there’s other livestock, keep her away from chickens!”

A hundred instructions for her care filtered through his mind looking back toward the gangplank, but they died on his tongue. With the mast looming above, he felt small. It was a floating prison. Out on the water, there’d be no chance, no route back to shore. He wouldn’t be surprised if they pulled out and weighed anchor in the middle of the harbor, just for extra measure.

Eskel looked up from his work as Geralt made his way through the door. He paused for a moment before pulling him into a hug. “I haven’t seen you for far too long,” he said as he let him go.

“Fuck off,” Geralt said. He tried to make it cutting—he’d never been so furious, save for once—but the familiar face softened him. It was another kind of homecoming. They may have been guards, but they were the closest thing he had to family of any kind now.

Eskel rolled his eyes at that. “Welcome back, bastard,” he said with a huff as Vesemir looked up from his desk at him.

Geralt stared across the desk, meeting his eyes. “Landlord tipped you off, did he?”

Vesemir nodded. “Why do you think you paid no rent? He got a hefty sum for summoning us. Evidently, his son saw your poster in another town on business and recognized you. They’ve known for a month.” Vesemir eyed him. His next words were a strange mix of scolding and fact. “You got sloppy.” It was almost as if he was disappointed by his carelessness.

Geralt exhaled, gritting his teeth. He did not speak.

Lambert watched the two of them from a chair off to the side, a smirk resting on his face.

“He did,” Eskel agreed. “And thank the gods for that, I was getting fed up with chasing you.”

“Then you should’ve gone home,” Geralt snapped. He stepped up behind Lambert and kicked the legs of the chair out from under him, then he swiped it and sat down, facing the three of them with his arms braced over the back. He glared at the floor. Looking at them was too much at the moment—too many conflicting feelings.

“You should have stayed,” Eskel sighed from his place in the room.

“Damn right,” Lambert muttered as he rubbed at his knees. “Now I’m stuck as an escort to his worship, Duke of Whores.”

Geralt looked up at that. “You’ve _met_ him?” he asked. He knew Lambert was bound to have a low opinion of _anyone_ , but the insult did not fill him with confidence about his future husband’s character.

“Oh yeah, charming fellow, couldn’t even be bothered to dress to meet us.” Lambert grumbled as he stood up. “Or hide exactly what he’d been doing the night before. He’d be your type if he wasn’t such an arrogant prick.”

Geralt hadn’t expected the duke to wait for him, but to be so brazen about his affairs was unbecoming. “I don’t have a type,” he replied. He’d only been with three people, and none of them looked a thing like the other. At least now he knew something for certain: the duke was the kind of person who didn’t give a shit about the arrangement or loyalty. Good. He’d make a cuckhold of him first thing.

“You do,” Eskel said lazily, “but we won’t get into that just yet. I have journals on current affairs so you can get caught up.”

“And Lettenhove has a few new plans,” Lambert added.

Geralt cringed. “New plans?” Was this his forthcoming punishment? He expected as much, but it still made the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

Vesemir pulled a stack of notebooks from his desk and set them on top. He took one and passed it to Eskel. “Show him,” he said.

Eskel handed him the book. “They want you two to stay in Rivia. The estate had no clear heir for far too long, and the Pankratzes, while still mostly in control, need you there to maintain order,” he explained.

“What?” Geralt snapped the book open and began pouring over the pages. It was true. _Rivia._ “I … I can stay at home?” he asked. He couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“It doesn’t make sense to consolidate power in Lyria,” Eskel added gently. “They’re also keeping their son home for a month before you two will be allowed to meet properly.”

The weight that had been sitting on Geralt’s chest grew lighter. He finally felt the air in his lungs, no more a mere mechanical function. He wouldn’t be leaving his family. And to keep the duke at home for a month! He’d have a chance to settle. It was more than they’d given him at the start. He was almost inclined to call it generosity. “They can keep him for a _year_ if they want,” Geralt sighed, grateful.

“Don’t be unrealistic, Geralt,” Vesemir warned. “You know that eventually the wedding will have to happen. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“He’s been away for some time now, I’d imagine they want to be sure he won’t embarrass them,” Lambert muttered from his place at the wall.

Eskel rolled his eyes and ignored him. “I’m just happy that you’ll be home.”

“I can’t believe I’ll be allowed to _be_ at home,” Geralt replied. “Last time, they were ready to fling me straight into the Lettenhovian manor and chain me to the wall. When did they get so agreeable?” He shook his head, reviewing the notes again. “If they’d done that from the start, I might not have run so far.”

“Well,” Eskel glanced at Vesemir for a moment before changing course. “Maybe they’re just tired of the young duke,” he offered. He had heard the two talking earlier and it was clearer to him that they did it as insurance, a way to keep Geralt from leaving their child again.

“Is he really so difficult to live with?” Geralt had not forgotten Lambert’s earlier jab. “Tell me about him. You called him the Duke of Whores. Is he promiscuous? That would explain a thing or two.”

“That, a drunkard, and a flirt,” Lambert huffed before Eskel smacked him.

“We only met him once. Vesemir knows him the best out of all of us. He’s been in and out of Lettenhove frequently,” Eskel offered.

“Lovely,” Geralt grumbled, tossing the notebook onto the table. “Hey, if I’m lucky, he’ll spend all his time in the wine cellar, far away from me. A happy ending for everyone.”

Vesemir sighed. “One day of drinking does not a drunkard make,” he said. However, he did not discount the flirting. The duke was not shy by any means. “He was obviously distressed at being called home again. He’s coping.”

Geralt snorted. “Him, coping? He can fuck his way all around the Continent for all I care. I won’t be the one who keeps him from his lifestyle. I’d rather have another sharing my bed.”

“You intend to make him a noble cuckold?” Eskel asked with a slight frown. “Sounds … disastrous.”

“Why do you care? You saw the man: it’s clear he doesn’t give a shit about the engagement,” Lambert grumbled.

“The news keeps getting better,” Geralt commented, actually smiling. “And yes. He cuckholded me first by the sound of it. Fair’s fair. At least when I do it, it won’t be for a casual fuck. My affair will have dignity.”

Eskel groaned softly. “Fantastic, two unruly lords under one roof,” he muttered before glancing at Vesemir. “What if, by some miracle, you like him?” he asked with a sigh.

“Then we’ll be friends and he’ll wish me every happiness,” Geralt replied firmly, though there was not a single doubt in his mind that it was nonsense. He, too, looked at Vesemir, let him see the seriousness as he spoke. “I may put up with the arrangement now that it’s come to this, but I’ve already made up my mind. I won’t love him.”

“You speak as if you’ve found someone else already,” Vesemir said. He knew Geralt. He knew the way he spoke, what he meant. He was fiercely loyal; this whole trouble stemmed from that exact quality. This conversation had him on edge. If Geralt was making jokes about cuckholds, there was a grain of truth to it.

Geralt looked around the room, eyeing each of them in turn. Then, he stood out of his chair slowly and crossed to the window, staring out at the port. He did not answer.

Eskel sighed softly and shook his head. “I wish you luck with whatever mess you intend to make here.” He patted his shoulder sympathetically.

“The pretty boy doesn’t need it,” Lambert teased.

“Don’t call me that again,” Geralt said, turning his head. It only served to remind him of Drache. He fisted his hands tight at the memory. “You remind me; I need to send a letter.”

“We’ll leave you to it then,” Eskel said as he and Lambert stepped out.

Geralt waited, but Vesemir had not risen from his place. “Aren’t you going after them? Those two, let loose on a trade ship with no supervision—they might just sink us before we set sail.”

“They’ve gained some discipline in your absence,” Vesemir said with a sigh. “So, what sort of person holds your heart?”

He looked back out the window over the water. “The very best sort,” he said. His voice was very flat as he spoke, afraid that speaking too honestly would wither away the last of his reserve. “Loyal, loving, and you’d like this—he’s noble-born. He’s a man of his people, like I was before this whole mess.”

“You know I can’t advise you to pursue this,” he said with another heavy sigh. “They would see it as a slight against their son in Lettenhove. But I’ve never seen that look in your eyes before.”

“No, you haven’t,” Geralt agreed. “You wouldn’t recognize it either, I’m sure.” Anger, spite: these were defenses he knew. They would keep him resilient as the gangplank was pulled away. They would ground him as the anchor was raised. They would steel him against whatever awaited him in Rivia.

“You love him then?” Vesemir asked as he watched Geralt. His eyes never strayed too far from him, it was like he was waiting for Geralt to step out of line.

Geralt slowly turned. He braced himself against the wall, arms crossed over his chest like a barricade. “What if I said I do?”

“It doesn’t make much of a difference, it just gives me more of an understanding. Is he why you ran?” he asked as he leaned back in his seat.

Geralt pulled away from the wall and paced in front of him. “In a way. I didn’t meet him until afterwards.” He looked up at Vesemir with cold eyes. “I ran away so I wouldn’t be _taken_ away from my home. I didn’t want to leave what was left of my family. Turns out, I didn’t have much family _left_ after all.”

He stopped in front of him, jabbing an accusing finger in the air at his face. “You would have given me up without a fight,” he said. “Do you think they’d let me take Eskel with me? Or Lambert? They’d have their own advisors and guards, all the very best money can buy. Those people don’t understand family—they didn’t even give me a month to grieve for mine!” He slammed his hands on the desk as he shouted, waving an arm east towards the road that lead back to their two countries.

Vesemir didn’t flinch, he simply sighed and met Geralt’s eyes. “It wasn’t ideal, I understand that. I didn’t want to have to push you into it, but they gave us little choice in the matter. If you had stayed, we could have made a deal with them, and moved things further back. But you ran, and Lettenhove’s heir paid the price for it. The man was in pain when we met with him; your guardsmen were too caught up with his clothing and cutting words to see it.” Vesemir sighed again, softly. He had met Julian many times now. He'd watched him come apart under the pressure.

“What price? And what pain? Don’t tell me his moping about being tied down is equal to what I’ve been through! I’ve been through hell, Vesemir! _He_ and _his family_ put me through it!”

“And you ran from it. He stayed,” Vesemir said bluntly. “Lettenhove wasn’t responsible for your last three years, you were. You were responsible for your betrothed’s last three as well, and he has hardly said a word against you. If you were in that boy’s shoes I’m certain you would be furious; he’s duty driven and you not only took that from him, but he quickly became Lyria and Rivia’s favorite punching bag in the courts.”

Geralt paused. For a moment, his outrage subsided. He lowered himself back into his chair, a tight expression on his face. “How do you mean?” he asked.

“You left him for the wolves. Every mistake he made was quickly the topic of discussion, they were _attempting_ to find reason for you leaving, and that reason quickly became that Julian wasn’t good enough for you. He was held to the highest standards, and he did his best to maintain them. He did most of the time, but everyone falters sometimes, and when he did, they ate him alive.” He sighed heavily. “He only left six months ago.”

“Six—” Geralt bit his tongue. Two and a half years. He knew what the court gossip could be like in the best of times. He couldn’t imagine what it might be like after such a scandal. It was something he’d tried not to think much about. What must they have said to finally drive him out of his own country? That was one mark in his favour: resilience.

Geralt lowered his head, running his fingers through his hair. He gripped it, trying to push the thought out of his head. “Fuck,” he muttered. He thought the duke's rank would have protected him from criticism.

“I don’t hold any of his … less than proper tastes against him. If it gives him solace it’s fine by me, and I know he will be loyal to you once we return home. I expect you to respect him; he had no say in this either,” Vesemir said bluntly.

“But returning alone won’t fix this, will it?” he asked. He figured he ought to prepare himself for a lifetime of animosity. Respect or no respect, this was beyond repair.

“Well, that’d be hardly an apology, and these wounds aren’t scars for him. They never stopped bleeding.”

Geralt grimaced. He never meant … but his actions had consequences, whatever his intentions. He raised his head, hands clasped in front of his chin. He stared blankly ahead at the edge of the desk, looking somewhere beyond it, not looking at anything at all.

“I need some time to think,” he said, voice quiet.

“The guards will show you to your quarters on the ship,” Vesemir offered.

Geralt stood. He picked up the notebooks and tucked them under his arm. It helped, having something to hold. “Tell Lambert to be kind when he goes,” he said. “Tell him from me.”

“He’ll listen if you tell him yourself. He’s missed you more than he’ll ever admit.”

Geralt nodded. “I will.”

There were two guards outside the cabin in Lyrian uniforms. Geralt stood between them as the door shut behind. And then, he was gone from sight once more. The only difference was, this time he’d be staying where he was put.

* * *

As the days wore on and their time to set sail drew nearer, Geralt grew more and more anxious. He’d spent the first day of his capture pouring over endless drafts, trying to write the most painless letter he could to explain the situation. He’d filled it with a hundred reassurances that whatever came, his heart belonged to Jaskier. He thought that by now there’d be some reply, whether by Jaskier’s pen or from one of the guards sent out to find him. His instructions had been perfectly clear! As the hours passed on the final evening, he became frantic with worry.

Was it Drache? He couldn’t even allow himself to consider the possibility. If Jaskier were dead or taken, there would at least be word. But then, there would also be news if he’d left his apartment. Did they interview his landlord? His neighbors? Or had Jaskier read the letter and refused to acknowledge him? His heart was beating out of his chest as he tried to remember what he’d written, but he found the more he tried, the more the words fell out of memory. He was sweating and sick. If it went on much longer, he was sure he’d develop a fever. What a fitting end, dying of worry the night before they were meant to leave. No chance of redemption with either of them, Jaskier or Julian. He’d already emptied his stomach into a chamber pot once.

There was a knock at Geralt’s door, and the guard from his first day stepped in with something in hand. He bowed slightly. “I have news, my lord.”

Geralt had jumped at the sound. He looked a mess and he knew it. He straightened himself out and hurried forward. “Tell me, quickly,” he said. “Did you find him? What did he say—is he alright?” He forgot himself and braced his hands on the man’s shoulders. But what did courtly manners matter here, now? The only thing that mattered was whatever the guard told him next.

“Well, they wouldn’t let me deliver it. I figured someone else had been chosen to bring it but … ” he held up Geralt’s ring. “I doubt it ever got off the ship,” he said gently.

Geralt backed up, gaping soundlessly at the man’s hand. There was his signet ring resting in his gloved palm. With trembling fingers, he reached for it. _Consider it a wedding ring. With it I vow_ … he’d written. He lost the words again, taken by his shock.

“Where did you find this?” he whispered.

“On the desk of my captain,” he said gently. “If you have another letter I’ll carry it there myself, but the original is gone, I’m sorry.”

Geralt shook his head. “No. There’s no time to write it all again,” he said. He clenched the ring in his fist, pressed it to his mouth with a grimace. “Leave,” he said. “Thank you for coming to me. You’ve done me a great service.”

He nodded a bit. “Just don’t do anything rash, my lord,” he said gently before leaving him to his own devices.

No. Geralt wouldn’t do anything rash. He’d already tried rash and it hadn’t worked. Rashness had brought him back into captivity. Rashness had brought untold pain upon another’s head. _Rashness_ had brought him to this moment. He slipped the ring back on his finger. No, rashness would not do.

It was time to be _reckless_.

The key turned in the lock of his door, but he paid it no mind. When it was dark enough, he took the letter knife from his desk and went to the window. With all his force, he stabbed at the glass. He did not wait for anyone to hear and come running, but cleared the fragments away and climbed up onto the frame, slipping the letter knife into his boot as he did. The window was just large enough to wriggle through. He exhaled, then dropped into the water below.

The water was frigid and it shocked him. His ears filled with pressure before he began to float upwards again. The salty water stung his eyes. He was blind. But he knew which way was up. He breached the water with a shaky gasp, then swam toward shore, underneath the dock. He grappled with the edge of the foundation before hauling himself out again with a shiver. Autumn really was on its way.

He paused only a moment to catch his breath, then he ran. Back alleys, side streets, he barreled towards Jaskier’s door. Jaskier didn’t know. That was the one thought that kept him going as his feet slapped heavy on the cobbles. He’d fucked him and disappeared. Nearly three days. His heart gave a terrible leap. He couldn’t hurt someone else. He couldn’t disappear again.

How far behind would the guards be? They’d send them on horseback the moment they knew. It was a snowball’s chance in the seventh circle of hell he’d even reach the door, but he had to _try._ His lungs burned with seawater and night air and he felt the bruising in his ribs more pronounced than it had been in the last few days. They still needed time to heal.

What would he say? He had not a clue. And if he had the chance to speak, what would come next? For the last three days he’d given up. Now he realized that even doing the right thing would have cruel consequences. At the very least, he had to let Jaskier know. There’d be no cockholds, no secret affairs. They wouldn’t even allow him a letter to say goodbye. He owed Jaskier that courtesy. Isn’t that what everyone told him he owed Julian Pankratz?

He couldn’t remember a single detail of the mad rush when he arrived. Everything collapsed around him and his vision tunneled onto one sole feature. He sprinted towards it. Then, he hammered like a dying man at a doctor’s door.

“Jaskier!” he bellowed, not caring if anyone heard. Let him be caught, only let him speak!

Jaskier stirred at the knocking before booting upright at the voice and stumbling down the stairs. He was in Geralt’s shirt, and the second the door opened he practically threw himself into his arms.

He held him tightly, and couldn’t help the tears that ran from his eyes. “I—I thought you left, I thought I was never going to see you again,” he said through soft sobs, not bothering to look up at him, or do anything but hold him tighter.

Geralt gripped him like he was life itself. “Never,” he said, choking to get the word out. He stumbled inside and shut the door with his back, bracing against it. He stroked Jaskier’s hair and kissed him wherever he could reach. “I’m sorry. Gods above, I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to leave you behind. I—they found me, Jaskier. I’ve been locked up this whole time. I tried to send a letter, but they lied to me. I had to break the window.” He knew he was rambling, making no sense at all. He’d never spoken so fast in his life, but he had to let him know. Then he grunted, Jaskier’s embrace just a little too tight. But he didn’t care. Let his ribs break apart! He was here!

Jaskier loosened his hold slightly and stepped back to look at him. “This is our goodbye then?” he asked quietly, wiping his eyes as he met Geralt’s. “I knew it would happen but I never thought it’d be like this,” he said softly, resignation in his voice.

Geralt pulled Jaskier back against him, gripping him tighter. _“No,”_ he said adamantly. He made the decision then and there. He hadn’t known what he’d do until he heard the breaking in Jaskier’s voice, saw the ache in his eyes. “No, we’re not through. I don’t care if I go to hell for what I’ve done, but I’m not giving you up. Not for a second.”

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly, although his voice made it clear it was a warning more than anything. “They won’t stop hunting you—you don’t even have your swords, you can’t risk your life for me,” he insisted.

“I don’t care!” Geralt cried. “And if not for you, than who? I’ve never wanted to give my life to someone before as I do now. Jaskier, I _love_ you. I love you to the point of _damnation.”_

Jaskier paused and cupped his cheek in his hand, “Geralt, you can’t ask me to go with you, please don’t make me do this,” he said softly, not meeting his eyes for a moment. “I love you more than my heart can bear; I’ve never wanted anything more than to be yours.”

But Geralt had to. If he didn’t he felt his heart would break itself to pieces where he stood. “Then _be_ mine. Come with me, Jaskier. Please. Don’t leave me behind tonight. Jaskier, I’m _begging_ you. Come with me, stay with me; love me, marry me—leave with me now.”

He smiled as tear rolled down his cheeks. He lifted a hand to cover Jaskier’s. They were so warm. “Remember the garden?” he whispered. “The house by the sea? We can _make_ that life.”

Jaskier was crying again. “I can’t—you know I can’t go with you,” he said weakly. “It hurts me more than you know to tell you that, but I have more than myself at stake." There were his people to consider. Whether they respected him or not, he had a duty to them from birth. “I love you, never forget how much I love you,” he insisted.

Geralt lifted his chin, forced him to look into his eyes. “Jaskier, look at me. Look into my eyes and tell me this is what you choose.” And for what? What could be more important? "You'd throw your heart away, and why? For duty? For a heartless arrangement to some stranger? What man is _worth_ that?” he asked.

“It’s not for one man; it’s for thousands. His kingdom and mine. If it were simply about us I would have fled my home when the arrangement was announced,” he said softly. “I can’t abandon my people. Even if he is terrible, I can’t leave them in the hands of a stranger.”

Geralt tucked his head against Jaskier’s shoulder, drawing him close. “Why do you have to be so damn noble?” he mumbled. It hurt, but it made Geralt love him all the more. “I wish I was still like that. I wish I was strong like you,” he confessed. He hadn’t been for so long.

Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair gently. “We’ll find each other again,” he said softly, mostly ignoring what he said as he wove a braid into his hair. “I love you, never forget that.”

Geralt pulled the ring from his finger. He lifted his head and took Jaskier’s hand. “I’ll wait,” he said. “For him to die, for you to change your mind—I don’t care. As long as it takes, I’ll wait for you.” Carefully, he slipped the onto Jaskier’s finger. He kissed it, afraid it would be the last time. “Whatever it takes, I’ll ensure your happiness one day.”

Jaskier kissed him fully one last time. “I’ll carry you with me every day I live,” he said softly as he pulled away. “I love you.”

Geralt let Jaskier’s hand trail out of his hand, though all he wanted to do was grip it fast and never let go. He closed his eyes a moment, bracing himself. Fine. If this was the way things were, he’d let them be. “I loved you first,” he said. The warmth of Jaskier’s hand still lingered in his. He closed his fingers around it. If Jaskier mean to honour his duty, then Geralt would return to honour his own. In his name, he vowed he’d see it done. But there was one more task left: one duty to see through. He took one last look at his love before he slipped out the door into the night.

A flash of silver shone against the empty street as Geralt pulled the letter knife from his boot. He wiped the tears from his face and crept through the streets, keeping to the blackest of shadows, a whisper in the darkness. This time, he was not a thing hunted. No bleak consequences awaited him, no capture. Tonight, _he_ hunted. It would be his very last.

If Geralt could not be there to ensure Jaskier’s safety, he’d eliminate the threat before it reached its mark. Drache Dagger would not live to see the sun rise.

There was still time for one last hurrah before the ship set sail—not as if they could leave without him. Even so, he’d kept his people waiting long enough, and the time had come to return. But not just yet. He heard the thunder of wild galloping in the streets nearby and crouched still and silent in the alley. This time, they weren’t as prepared. This was _his_ time, and he could move unseen through the city freer than any man. It would be easier for everyone if the guards simply stayed on the ship. After all, Geralt was headed back towards the port.

Creatures of habit, all of them. After a successful hunt, how did any bounty hunter celebrate? Wine, women, and song, not to mention a glorious recounting to the rapturous applause of one’s peers. And what was the perfect scene for such things? A rowdy tavern. Had he not first met Jaskier under similar circumstances?

Geralt eyed the window of every pub, bar, and tavern along the coast where he’d been caught. It was only a precaution. He already knew the likeliest place. And there he was, sitting at a table in the _Golden Sturgeon,_ drinking a toast with a few red cloaked deviants. Geralt slid back into the alley behind the tavern and lay in wait. The minute a red cloak came out to take a piss against the building, he slammed his head against the wall, knocking him out, possibly worse. He dragged the unconscious thug into the shadows and stripped him of his cloak. He donned it to hide his features, then entered the fray with his head held low.

He did not stay, but went to the barman to leave a message. “Tell Dagger we’ve found his flower’s little garden,” he said, the words rolling like acid from his tongue, the taste of them fouler than bile. “We’ll be outside, waiting to guide him when he’s finished his drink.” Then Geralt turned and waited, running his thumb over the letter knife. Twice he’d seen a Lyrian livery in the streets, but he was not afraid. People didn’t make eye contact with the Dredge unless they had business. In his bold red cloak, he was invisible.

The message was passed along and Drache got up. His men were already talking by then, similar jokes and taunts about the bard. He was pulling off another petal, plucking himself a bouquet, and some less eloquent jests were thrown after him as he made his way out with his second in command.

“Well, are you ready to go then? I’m looking forward to this,” he chuckled viciously.

Geralt slashed Drache’s second with a swipe of his hand. The man fell dead on the cobbles before the blood could begin to drip from his neck.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Geralt rumbled. He looked Drache straight in the eye as he let his knife hand fall. “I did promise you. I don’t _make_ empty promises.”

Drache grabbed his dagger and held it before him. “You should be on your way to Lyria by now,” he growled as he took up a better fighting stance.

“I had some last minute business.”

“Well, it seems like you’ll still make the trip out, just in a casket instead of a ship.” He took a step forward.

Geralt allowed his approach. He did not advance, nor did he retreat. He merely stood, knife resting relaxed at his side. He may no longer have the element of surprise, but he’d given it up freely. He did not need it.

“Where _does_ your unearned confidence come from?” Geralt asked. “Was it tucked in with your tidy inheritance or did you steal it from someone’s pocket when you pulled them from a coach?”

Drache clenched his jaw, and lunged for him, not deigning to answer. It was a messy move: clearly he was more than a few drinks in and rage blinded him.

Geralt simply stepped out of the way and let him stumble. This wouldn’t be much of a fight. He paced behind him, tickled his ribs with the tip of his blade to watch him jump. “You were never much good at fighting. Not in any way that counts. Oh yes, you could bring down the best of them with your brutality and speed, but your footwork was sloppy from the start. Always on the offensive—you can’t parry for shit. Vesemir told me.”

“And yet I still managed to take your noble toy without issue.” He growled back at him as he caught himself once more. “The whore can’t even fight his own battles.”

“This isn’t _his_ battle.” Geralt sneered and threw the end of his cloak over Drache’s head, blinding him. He beat Drache’s wrist with his fist, forcing him to drop the knife. Drache clawed and struggled in his grip, but Geralt pulled him backwards, disorienting. He broke his roots.

“You use these cloaks to mark yourself, but you never really _learned_ cloak work, did you? You left on your _noble mission_ of vengeance before you could. All that high talk about dragons and preserving the remaining magic in the land—nothing but a pretty story. I know what you were doing, provoking the peerage.”

He tossed Drache onto the street, gasping, then wrapped the end of the cloak around his balance arm. He'd learned cloak work when he'd fenced in school. Really, it was the one thing he'd expected the Dredge to know. How sorely disappointing. “Do you know _why_ I didn’t just stride into the bar and call you out myself?” he asked.

Drache caught himself and looked up at him with a sneer. “I have a feeling you’ll tell me.” It wasn’t a fight he could win, they both knew it, but he was determined to go out being a bastard.

“Then you’re not as stupid as you look.” Geralt slashed his shoulder and stepped out of reach again. “I wanted the last person you were seen with to be another Dredge. Let them think you fell to infighting at the hands of some backwater, nameless thug. Tomorrow I’ll be out in the middle of the sea when they find your body, and when news arrives in Rivia, I’ll have the pleasure of acting so surprised. There’ll be nothing leading back to me or my country. The war you want will never come, you’ll never die in the glory of battle, and history will forget you and your family name by the end of the decade. Isn’t that why you target the nobility?”

“What if you’re wrong? Maybe I just liked taking bastards like you down a few pegs. Maybe I liked watching men who had everything die for nothing. Maybe I just liked hearing him beg for mercy,” he growled as he lunged for him again, ignoring the pain in his shoulder

“I know you do, but there’s no ‘just’ to it,” Geralt agreed, shifting aside. Drache took enough pride in what he did, it was obvious he found enjoyment in death. As he passed, Geralt made another useless, decorative cut across Drache’s cheekbone, slashing the cloak at his shoulder as he retreated back to his stance. He had an odd look in his eye, examining his work. “Maybe two,” he muttered, thinking aloud. He made another jab at Drache, ripping his shirtfront, leaving only a shallow wound on his chest. To watch the fight would be something akin to watching a man hang a portrait on the wall, moving it now a smidge to then left, then right again.

Drache tossed his cloak aside and glared back at Geralt. It was clear he was being played with, and he was getting tired of being a mouse under Geralt’s claws.

“Just fucking do it already,” he growled as he took a step closer. “Send your flower my regards, I figured this is his goodbye present, so fucking end it.”

Geralt took one last look at Drache’s cuts, then he nodded. “You’re right. I think that’s convincing enough.”

In one swift motion, he pushed him flat on the ground with the heel of his boot and leaned down, the point of his knife on Drache’s neck. “If I do end up in hell for all I’ve done, I’ll be sure to visit you in the seventh circle for a rematch,” he whispered. Then he stabbed the knife through quick and hard until it cracked against the street on the other side. He pulled it free as Drache sputtered, choking on his own blood, and wiped the blade clean on Drache’s shirt.

As he lay dying, Geralt slipped the letter knife back into his boot and dragged his second in command to his side, dropping him half on top of his chest. He took the knife from the Dredge’s belt, bloodied it, and set it in his hand. He did the same for Drache’s dagger, leaving it just out of his reach. Then, nodding at the scene he’d invented, he returned to the alley and fetched the cooling corpse. He redressed it in its cloak and dragged it over to the port, hauling it over the side of the dock and into the dark waters churning below.

Geralt took one last look at Drache. The cuts looked about right for a careless thug, the wounds just shallow and messy enough to suggest a drunken fight. There was no evidence of a trained fighter to be found. Nothing but an alcohol-educed street brawl. His last free duty done, Jaskier’s safety in hand, Geralt turned back toward the ship. His clothes hadn’t even properly dried when he stood before the gangplank, looking up at the guards. Without help, he took the first step off the wharf.

He was in the middle of the plank when he saw Eskel and Lambert burst from the lower decks, still in the process of dressing in their armour, hair askew, lines of sleep on their faces. They fumbled to a halt at the sight of Geralt, walking peaceably onto the deck, hands free of shackles, looking as if he’d merely stepped out for a breath of air and got caught in a brief downpour before changing his mind. He nodded at them, then turned to find Vesemir looking down from the upper deck, arms crossed, unreadable. In a moment, he was gone again through the door of his office.

“Evening,” Geralt said. He nodded toward land, expression and tone neutral. “Just stepped out for a bit.” He was tired now, all the fight gone out of him. His feet dragged on the wood boards, three years of running caught up with him. It was time, at last, to call it quits. He knew that the moment he found his way to bed he would surely sleep through the launch.

Eskel paused for a moment but let it go. “Evening. Anything eventful about your jaunt?” He'd asked it skeptically, but didn’t push the issue further.

Lambert, on the other hand, wasn’t about to let him go that easy. “What the hell were you doing? You just jumped ship like a man with a death wish!”

Geralt gave an amused half-smile. He’d had a death wish, there was no doubt about that, but it wasn’t for himself. “Nothing history will remember,” he answered, waving vaguely.

Eskel rolled his eyes and let it go. “Go see Vesemir before he kills us for not jumping ship to find you.”

Lambert was bristling with questions but let it go.

Geralt patted Eskel’s shoulder on his way to the stairs. “Talk later?” He purposefully ignored Lambert, knowing how much it would be bothering him. Three weeks away, chomping at the bit was too much to resist. It was just like old times.

Eskel nodded and hauled Lambert off with him.

Vesemir was pacing his office when Geralt walked in. “Where have you been?” he asked firmly as he looked Geralt over.

Geralt took a deep breath. Vesemir had a way of making everyone feel like a child again. Any moment he felt as if he’d be sent to his room without supper or made to mop the great hall, though he knew the threat would never come. The scolding, however, was always thorough.

“Out,” he replied. His boots squelched as he made his way to the chair and sat, looking across the desk at the other empty chair behind it. It was easier than looking at Vesemir.

“Clearly,” he said bluntly. “I figured you had run, again,” he said with a heavy sigh. “What were you doing?”

Geralt quirked an eyebrow. “Without Roach?” As if he could leave her behind. Or his swords for that matter. Vesemir had already scolded him for not thinking things through; if he’d run now, he’d be running even less prepared than the first time.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He clasped his hands in front of his chin as before, his words muffled as he spoke. “I had some final business to see through before we set sail,” he said.

Vesemir paused. “I assume you had to settle things with whoever you gave your heart to,” he said with a sigh. “I had hoped you would let it go.”

“I thought you knew me better. When all else fails, I’m stubborn to the last breath. You taught me that.”

“Hoping something doesn’t make it likely,” Vesemir countered. “You look rough, what happened?”

“Nothing. I just jumped out a porthole. Couldn’t exactly walk down the gangplank, could I?” Geralt sat up and flipped the end of one sodden shirt tail. He was beginning to feel the discomfort of his socks, now that his adventure was over, and the stiffness of the dry salt on his skin.

“Geralt, your sleeves are covered in red thread, what happened?” he asked again.

Geralt looked down at his black shirt. In the lit cabin, he saw the evidence of the tatty cloak on his sleeves, clear as day. “Fuck,” he grunted, picking the threads and looking over his shoulders for more, twisting round in his chair. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t been afraid before—not of Drache, not of the guards, but looking up at Vesemir now, the hairs stood on the back of his neck.

He swallowed. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to believe they were from Jaskier’s sheets?” he asked weakly. It was a lie thinner than the worn threads in his fingers.

“Not for a moment. So, why don’t you sit and explain yourself,” he said coolly as he sat at his desk. “I don’t want to return to Rivia with surprises waiting for us there.”

Geralt looked back nervously at the door, wondering how thick it was. He swallowed, his throat dry. “Keep your voice low and don’t shout,” he said. The words sat heavy on the tip of his tongue, pressed against the back of his teeth, but he let them sit a moment. He told himself he’d thought things through. He’d been careful. Even so, he knew what Vesemir would think.

“I killed Drache Dagger tonight,” he whispered.

Vesemir glared at him for a brief moment before collecting himself. “Why? You usually aren’t a vigilante. What did he do to you?” he asked with a heavy sigh.

Geralt blinked. That was not the reaction he’d been expecting. He sat upright, startled into good posture with his hands on his knees. “He raped Jaskier,” he growled. “ _Repeatedly._ When he and the Lyrian guards caught me, he made another, more violent threat. I asked for an escort to take Jaskier home, along with the letter I wrote. When I found out the letter had never reached him, I assumed the escort had also been out of the question.” He clenched his teeth, staring at the grain in the wooden desk. “So I saw to it myself to ensure his protection.”

Vesemir paused for a long moment and lit the pipe that rested at the corner of his desk. “Did anyone see you or were you alone with the man?” he asked before taking a drag. He remained eerily calm, but that was hardly new to Geralt.

“I stole a Dredge cloak and called him out. Dumped the body of the Dredge I stole it from in the harbor, made sure it sank.” Geralt’s eyes flicked toward the windows. “I left Drache’s body beside another Dredge, staged a fight. Made it look like they died at each other’s hands. Nobody saw my face. I’ve been living as a bounty hunter for a long time now; I know my job and I’m good at it. I work best at night.”

Vesemir nodded as he spoke. “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now. The man deserved it, and I doubt he’ll be missed,” he said bluntly. “Your heart was lucky to have you looking out for him.”

Geralt observed Vesemir a moment, then slumped in his chair with a great breath of relief. “Promise me we’ll never speak of this again. I think it’d be for the best if we forgot that particular detail.”

“I will let those words stay in this room.” Vesemir assured him before taking another drag. “I’m surprised he wasn’t killed earlier.”

Geralt snorted. “I’m not. Nobles hate getting their hands dirty, and higher powers could care less about a few lowborn men with vanity titles. He hadn’t yet gotten to a target important enough to be a threat.”

“Fair enough, but he was starting to become a nuisance,” Vesemir pointed out.

“True. I think I would’ve killed him eventually anyway, do the community a service. I was very at home here.” Then, Geralt bolted upright. “Fuck, my things!” he shouted. “I had a box in the loft where I was staying. Did it make it on board? I have addresses, letters and things. I can’t just disappear—not from another home. I had dinners, holiday engagements.”

“Oh, I was wondering about that actually,” Vesemir hummed as he opened a drawer in his desk and set down the box. “I left it closed,” he assured him as he pushed the box across to him.

Geralt smiled and reached forward. “I’d nearly forgotten about it,” he whispered.

“Box of souvenirs?” Vesemir asked as Geralt took the box from his desk.

“Gifts and treasures from my new life—old life now, I suppose.” He chuckled, bracing a hand on the lid. There were several things he'd wanted to share if he ever met with them again; he thought Vesemir in particular would be interested in the mass of recipes he’d acquired. Eskel would like the stories he'd copied down, and he had a whole bundle of dirty jokes and limericks Lambert's name on it. Now, it looked like he had that chance.

“There’s a trout recipe in here that reminded me of your cooking when we’d go fishing," Geralt said. "I wondered if I had met someone from some branch of your family along the way, it really was so similar. Here, take a look and tell me if—”

Geralt stopped as he raised the lid. There, resting on top of his treasures, was Jaskier’s braid. He stared and the words died on his lips unbidden.

Vesemir watched him curiously. “I have some family from here, but something tells me you’ve moved on from that. What has you staring? Nothing’s missing, is it?”

“No,” Geralt confirmed. “There’s nothing missing.”

He lifted the braid from the box balanced on his knees so that it rose into Vesemir’s line of sight. His breath shuddered as he looked at it. The soft hair tickled his palm and he stroked it with his thumb, the end of the light blue ribbon dangling over the side of his hand.

“It was his. Jaskier’s.” His eyes stung with fresh tears. His next words were rough, throat already worn from one bought of crying. “Drache cut it from him the first time they met. I fought him, took it back.” He didn’t mother mentioning that he’d been responsible for Drache’s new look. That wasn’t important. Instead, Geralt gripped the braid to his chest, doubling over. He hid his face, not wanting Vesemir to see him so low.

Vesemir moved from his seat and set aside his pipe, before resting a hand on his shoulder. “He must’ve loved you quite a bit to give you something like this,” he said reassuringly.

The decorative ribbon struck a chord with him. The pattern woven into it, a row of buttercups, brought back memories of some of his meetings with the young duke in the past. And now it seemed like the man had gotten a rough haircut. But that was ridiculous. The pair of them meeting was far too unlikely even if they shared the city.

“He did. He does,” Geralt corrected. “And I mean to go on loving him, even from afar. Even if no one will take my _letters_.” Geralt could love him in silence if that was the way it had to be.

He nodded a bit. “Who knows, he might be at the wedding.” Vesemir offered gently, before patting his shoulder. “You should rest.”

“I’d rather he wasn’t. I think it might kill me to see him there with his shiny new husband,” Geralt muttered. He collected his things and stood, lumbering to the door.

“Sleep well, we’ll likely be off before you wake,” Vesemir said as he left.

Geralt trudged below decks, escorted to his cabin. He lay his box of things on the table and stripped, not bothering to clean up before tucking himself under the sheets. He kept the braid in hand as exhaustion washed over him. The sun was high, bright light leaking in through the broken window when he woke. But he did not rise. For three days, Geralt lay in bed, unmoving. He wished they’d ride into a storm and drown, just as his parents had.

The weather was clear and fine, and in two weeks, the sun shone on the familiar shores of Lake Eskalott in Rivia.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier woke up early for the day of his departure. He was more than ready to leave Novigrad; at this point there was nothing left for him but painful and bittersweet memories, so home was looking more and more appealing.

He met with his household guards first and discussed their route and path through Lyria’s lands as they waited for their last member to finally join the small traveling party.

Lambert slogged up the path, barely punctual enough to pass for polite, as Vesemir had warned him. He had a small travel bag and his sword slung over his back, as well as the various tools and daggers which hung from his belt. He dropped his bag among the crates of Jaskier’s possessions and nodded with a grunt.

“You people get the luxury of waking when you want, yet you insist on doing things so damned early,” he grumbled.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Ah, good morning to you too Lambert, I’m glad you joined us,” he hummed before turning to his men and ordering one to bring him his horse. “How have you been?” he asked Lambert as he turned to him once more.

“Like shit,” he said. Before when Geralt had ignored him in teasing, things had been fine. He thought he’d turned a corner, but the bastard hadn’t even said goodbye to him. The last thing he’d done was to tell him to ‘be kind’ to his worship, Duke of Whores. The change in his tone had put Lambert ill at ease. It felt like there was something everyone else knew but him, as usual. Probably more than one thing, knowing Geralt.

“Not a morning person?” he chuckled before taking the reins of his gelding from the guard before pulling himself onto his back.

“Not much of a _person_ person, some would argue.” He eyed the gelding, then watched as a couple other men loaded Jaskier’s things on a wagon. A man approached with another horse, holding the reins out to him. “What’s this?” he asked. “Are we riding to the ship? Can’t we walk?”

The guard placed the reins in his hand and tossed his bag back in his arms. “His Grace’s things are being carried by freighter; you’ll be travelling on horseback to Lyria.”

Lambert guffawed. “You can’t be serious. You’ve got a freight prepared and you’re going out of your way to take the longest route back? And no _coach?_ It’s no wonder Vesemir made me tag along: that’s a stupid idea.”

“I tried to warn them about your tongue but they didn’t believe me,” Jaskier chuckled as his men seemed to recover from the shock. “We’re riding so we can cover the land quickly and to see Lyria as we travel.”

“The freighter would be faster,” Lambert mumbled. He sighed, trying to remember Geralt and Vesemir’s various warnings, then hitched his bag to the horse’s saddle and climbed on. “Surprised you still wouldn’t take a coach. It’s safer, and you don’t get saddle sore.” It was his best attempt at civil conversation, and his tone had less bite. A _bit_ less bite.

“I tend to get sick in them, besides, some stiff legs aren’t enough to really be a deterrent,” Jaskier said as he spurred his horse forwards. “Let’s be off then.”

“What a match.” Lambert said it with a hefty sigh. If they ever ended up getting on well, it seemed like the duke would have no trouble keeping up with Geralt: yet another stubborn git who hated coaches.

“Speaking of, why don’t you tell me about your earl?” Jaskier asked as he walked beside him. Despite an obvious dislike for the man in question, he was still curious.

Lambert snickered and said, “For starters, he’s a total fucking prick. He took Vesemir’s side, made me come on this little ride along.”

He chuckled slightly at that. “Well, I already knew that. Actually, we can add it to the list of grievances I already have. But tell me something new?”

“He’s quieter than you. Not quite so _chatty,”_ he added, giving him the side-eye. “But he’s like you when it comes to coaches. Less so because he gets sick, more so because he hates being boxed in. By tonight, he’ll be pacing the ship deck, already sick of his cabin. He’d trudge through three feet of snow in winter for an hour outside. If not, he’d _really_ be sick, and you’d smell it the moment you opened his door. It’s _very_ attractive—smart move, not travelling with him. They’re keeping him in his room until the coastline disappears and he vomited last night because of it. Only had it in him to hold out three days.”

“Seasick I take it?” Jaskier summarized as they walked out of the city gates. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder back at the familiar streets and wish he could have called it home for longer. Memories of Geralt pushed to the forefront of his mind as well, seeing as they were going out by the farms. “What does he do for fun?”

“It’s not the sea that gets to him; it’s the cabin. And as for fun … ” Lambert lifted his reins in one hand, palming them loosely. “He’s obsessed with horses. Always has been. He makes a big deal of it first thing when the snow starts melting to jump on a horse’s back and go tearing off into the country for a week. He comes back looking less like a dead thing, though. Makes for better company after that. Still a prick,” he added, chuckling.

“Well, it makes sense that he took along his wedding gift then. She was a lovely horse,” Jaskier said with a little chuckle before turning his focus back to the road. “What does he think of me?”

“He thinks—” then Lambert stopped himself. Geralt only thought what _he_ thought. His and Eskel’s brief encounter with the duke had been his only frame of reference, and his opinions tended to be more colorful than the truth. He grunted, looking to one side to avoid his face. The duke was a bit too chummy, and it made it too easy to talk, even if he _was_ a bratty, drunken Duke of Whores. “He thinks I ought to be kind to you. That’s what he said, at any rate.”

“Well, that’s reassuring at least,” he said with a soft sigh. “A kind husband is better than the alternative. Even if he isn’t very fond of me,” he added gently. “I know it must seem rather silly to want to be liked by the man. He hurt me more than almost anyone else, and I should have grown accustomed to his … disinterest by now, but something in me still wants to hope that he will be fond of me.”

Lambert looked at him with something that would be akin to sympathy if his face hadn’t been born too tight on his skull. He offered a shrug. “He’s a prick, but he’s a prick people tend to get along with. Nothing silly about wanting to get along with someone like that, especially if you’re going to end up marrying him.”

He didn’t want to see the duke as a person just yet—not before even an hour on the road. He still had jokes and jabs he’d wanted to make over an ale. He couldn’t come out of this trip being the _nice one_ when the roast began at home.

“Well, I’ll take that to heart then. You know him far better than I do, and I don’t think you’re one to mince words. That’s why I chose you anyways. Eskel seemed nice, but he was far too quiet and formal. I’m tired of formalities still, and my guards, while I trust them with my life, are poor companions at best,” he said plainly. “And you already know me better than most of them do, especially considering how we met,” he chuckled.

“I wish I knew you less. Have some decorum—you’re a duke,” he muttered.

He chuckled slightly at that. “I’m a duke in Lyria and Rivia, I’m a bard almost everywhere else. My _decorum_ gets left at the border.”

It was then that Lambert noticed the case strapped to the saddle for the first time. He lifted his chin at it. “Is that it then? The lute?” He’d only seen it once when it was brought to the house for Geralt’s approval. It was sent off to Lyria shortly afterwards to solidify the engagement. A bard had to play _something._

“It is. It’s a beautiful instrument, plays like a dream,” he said with a little smile. “When we camp for the night I’ll show you,” he offered.

“So can you actually play it? Not to discredit you, but you know how the peers boast. They inflate their children’s talent.” He was sure the thing would have been hanging back on the wall in his manor, or else leaning on a stand for display. It never once occurred to him he’d ever actually use the damn thing.

“I was formally trained as a bard, so I hope I can play a lute,” he chuckled softly. “I was supposed to be studying the markets and trade, but I wasn’t suited to it, so I ended up leaning into politics and music instead.”

“Then you chose well. His _Lordship_ can handle the economic stuff just fine on his own, but he’s shit with politics, as I’m sure you know. He always has his foot in his mouth in formal settings. Never got much experience with it. For about ten years mentoring under his father, I don’t think he said more than two sentences in each meeting: ‘Evening’ and ‘Good night’!”

Lambert snorted, remembering watching Geralt sit stiffly at balls and negotiations. He was good with people, could read them well and find out what they wanted, but he had a habit of speaking too informally for which his father put the fear of the gods in him with a pre-event briefing that always left him tongue-tied. Formal manners weren’t his strong suit. He fell back on comfortable silence, grunts, and shakes of the head.

“The lute might do you some good,” Lambert said. “He loves music, almost as much as his horse. If you can sing, you might actually get him to turn his head. Maybe not all the way, but a smidge of a tilt.”

“Well, if nothing else we’ll at least have a functioning household at the end of this,” Jaskier chuckled softly.

It was a relief to hear that; he had been worried about that almost as much as he had been about the wedding. If all of this was for trade, and neither of them could manage it, well, it would be a whole lot of fuss for failure.

Lambert cleared his throat. As to that, he had to wonder: just what sort of person was _he?_ Geralt’s threats of cuckoldry came back to him, and he thought about the various bites and bruises he’d seen, now covered by the duke’s doublet.

“May I speak freely?” He hesitated before adding, “Your Grace?” for extra measure.

"You may, and you don't need to ask; you won't be punished for doing so," he assured him as they continued along the paths by the orchard.

“About … what I saw the other day,” he began, keeping his tone light as he eyed the other guards warily, not wanting to tarnish the duke’s reputation any more than it had been already. He could practically _feel_ Vesemir’s hand on his shoulder, squeezing a warning. “Will you be bringing any visitors to the estate in the future?”

"No, I know better than to attempt that, and I wouldn't want to put my lover through it either. He's a good man, but naive when it comes to how much rumors and scandal can affect men of title. Besides, he had an arrangement as well, and I'm not one to pull him from it. I know how that feels." He sighed softly. "I was upset, and tired when you saw me, I don't make a habit of parading around like that."

Lambert’s heart gave a leap. “You had a lover? One, specifically?” he asked. So much for the Duke of Whores. The expression on his face made Lambert feel a twinge of regret. The answer also had him worrying for Geralt’s sake. Lambert hadn’t been around to hear his answer before, but he felt almost sure he actually meant to make the duke a cuckhold, that Vesemir’s accusation was true, and he’d found someone already.

"Well, currently, yes? He wasn't my first but he was my only one. It was brief, but he still has my heart," Jaskier sighed softly, before glancing out over the familiar fields around them.

There was now a lump in Lambert’s throat. The duke meant to make things work, and that would not be to Geralt’s advantage. “I’m sure His Lordship wouldn’t mind if you … ” he gestured vaguely with one hand. “As long as you both kept things quiet. He believes in love and those things. Half the reason for this mess.”

Fuck. Saying the wrong thing could make _another_ mess, but he meant to try for Geralt's sake. He could easily brush the suggestion aside as his own opinion, he hoped.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. "He is a fool then. He clearly doesn't understand that this isn't about us: having lovers outside of our union is just as dangerous for them as it is us. Aside from court gossip, they become weaknesses, if anyone wished to get to us they'd have a much easier time getting to them than us, and my family doesn't look upon those that sort of thing fondly."

Lambert slumped on the saddle. “Yes. You’re right, of course,” he mumbled. He looked between his horse’s ears and was quiet awhile, thinking of Geralt’s vow, refusing to love the duke. He hoped that would change in time, or else he worried what would become of his friend. He sighed, the sound of the horses’ hooves loud as they went along.

Jaskier let things go quite for a while between them; what was there to say after a suggestion like that? He wanted to have been able to marry for love, truly he did, but it wasn't worth the risk.

But in time, Lambert, being Lambert, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “He’d never dishonor you,” he burst. “Even if he’s an idiot, he’d never intentionally hurt anyone. He keeps himself in line, despite what’s happened, and he’s had his one outburst. It’s done now. I’m sure things will go back to the way they were before. To some degree, at least.”

Geralt had looked so resigned the night before. There’d been a change in him. Perhaps the cuckhold jokes had only been that—jokes—but he almost wished they wouldn’t be, for he’d never seen Geralt with such a hollow stare.

He couldn't help his chuckle at that. "You have so much faith in him, it’s almost endearing." Jaskier's tone took up that cold sharp edge once again. "Things will never return to how they were, not in Lettenhove, and certainly not in Eskalott. He has done damage that will scar as it is repaired, and you certainly know that scars never truly fade."

Lambert touched the side of his face and glowered. “Intentionally,” he amended. “Didn’t mean to drudge up the rest of it—just trying to reassure you. No reason to be a prick.” There was a difference between a physical scar and a metaphorical one.

"It’s easier for you if I am," Jaskier said dismissively before riding ahead to clear his thoughts. He discussed their path with the captain of his guards when he reached him, and stayed at his side until they made camp.

It wasn’t until dinnertime that they spoke again.

A guard sent Lambert to the duke with his dinner. Lambert nudged at his boot. “Hey, prick. You’re eating with me,” he said, speaking gruffly.

"Well, if I don't have a choice in the matter I don't see why not," he said as he set aside his lute. He had been working through the melody of a song he had intended for Geralt. He disliked being cold, but it seemed like it might serve him well in the journey, especially if he was going to be talking to Lambert through it. It was far easier to ignore unwelcome truths when they were coming from a prick.

“You don’t,” Lambert said. He plunked himself down at his side and shoved the bowl into his hands. “Now I’ve had to deal with pricks my whole life. I know a real one, and I know a fake one. Our first meeting may have given me a poor impression, but you’re not much of a prick. Pricks don’t sulk like you after they make a good jab.”

"If you say so, although I've had to deal with more than a few pricks, and some sulk to preserve their image. It was just court instincts," he said before eating a bit.

“You have more reason than anyone to want to preserve what’s left of your tarnished image, but you’re not fake. You’ve got those annoyingly transparent eyes. A bit like another prick I know.”

"Well, there you have it then, I'm just another bratty noble," he offered up to him. He had let his heart get the better of him that morning. He was nursing old and new wounds now, and Lambert happened to catch him before he had time to hide them, and before he could quell his want for company.

Lambert spoke with his mouth full, not bothering with _his_ courtly manners one bit. He even went so far as to wag his spoon at the duke. “A bratty noble doesn’t insult himself for another’s comfort. I’ve been doing some thinking. Now the world knows I’m not one for being nice, but I’m honest. Be honest with me and I’ll be honest with you, and that’ll make this whole trip easier on the both of us.”

Jaskier glared at him but there wasn't any fire behind it. "Fine. But I'm warning you now this won't do either of us much good in the long run."

Jaskier had to prepare himself for court again. If he didn’t have his walls well secured by then, he would crumble. He needed them when he faced his betrothed as well: he didn’t want to go into this softhearted and naive. He’d been like that before, and the pain was unbearable.

“I’m not overly concerned with what does me good, as if you can’t tell by the look of me.” He tapped one of the larger scars on his face. “But something about the weak way you lashed out earlier got me thinking. You, my friend, are repressed as _shit._ Hold it in too long and you’ll end up vomiting over the side of the saddle. I know I’m not the one you’re spoiling to fight, but think of me as a good warm-up for the main event.”

"I may want to rip your lord to pieces, but I try not to make much of a habit of fighting those who haven't hurt me." _Or fighting at all,_ but he left that unsaid. While it was true, they were hardly his own words. "His cowardice has caused me suffering beyond what you can imagine. He'll deserve what I'll say to him, but you don't."

“Whoa,” Lambert said, a little impressed. “You looked pretty dark there for a second. Looks like there’s more in you than I thought.”

"That's the intention most of the time." He sighed softly before setting aside his bowl. "You'll come out of this understanding that, and why I hate the bastard, but that'll have to wait."

Lambert set his plate on his lap and let his head roll back. “So much for that. I thought a little lord-bashing might smooth things over.” He set his plate to the side and flopped down. Being the one to look out for others was tiring, and it was something he wasn’t much good at. He didn’t know _what_ the duke needed. “Nobody’s better at bad-mouthing His Lordship than yours truly, but I suppose it’d be different, coming from you. I know what _I_ mean when I call him a prick, but you'd mean something more honest. I don't suppose Your Grace can get into the habit of talking that way either."

"Don't call me that. My friends call me Jaskier, and I assume I'll make a friend of you yet," he said with a chuckle.

“That’s a weird name,” Lambert replied. But he smiled, preening. He was making better progress than he thought. Then, he frowned, thinking it rang a bell. “You say you’re a bard, right? Have I heard of you?” he asked.

"Possibly, but I doubt it. Most of my songs stayed in Oxenfurt, and the rest only traveled through my chambers. I didn't make much of a name for myself. I knew I'd have to leave it."

“Hmm. Hey, you said you’d play for me. Play me one of your songs and let’s see if I know it.” The name tickled something in the back of his brain. Maybe he’d heard it in a bar or something. He’d never really be paying much attention to who was playing music anywhere he went. That was more Geralt’s sort of thing.

"What do you want to hear?" he asked as he pulled the instrument into his lap again.

Lambert waved a hand before tucking it behind his head. “I don’t know shit about music. Just play whatever,” he said.

Jaskier paused for a moment and played the ballad he had played for Geralt their first night together. It was one of his own, and held meaning that Lambert would be able to pick out, seeing as it was about his lord, and how Jaskier felt about being left behind.

There was a sniffle from the ground toward the end. Jaskier looked down.

Lambert sniffed again, staring up at the open sky. “Fucking _prick,”_ he mumbled under his breath, words coming out strained.

"Are you alright, Lambert?" he asked gently as he set aside his lute.

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He sat up so his back was turned to Jaskier. The song had reached somewhere inside him and plucked a string. “Broke your fucking heart, the bastard.”

"I intend to beat you to it," Jaskier teased lazily. Open wounds or not, he was used to the weight of them. "You can have him once I'm finished though."

Lambert wiped his eyes and did his best to compose himself. “I’ll hold him for you,” he joked, choking out a laugh.

Jaskier couldn't help his own laugh, letting his head fall back as he did, only to reveal a series of small scars under his chin. "I didn't realize how easily your allegiance could be swayed," he teased.

Lambert turned to smile at him, another banterous retort on his tongue, but he froze. He shifted until he was facing Jaskier completely and crawled forward a bit, pointing. “Fuck, what happened here?” he asked.

"Nothing that hasn’t already been dealt with," Jaskier said stiffly, a chill hiding on the back of his tongue. "I'm lucky they’re hidden, unlike yours, but you have no reason to hide them."

“Why? Did you get into a knife fight with a fucking _prince?”_ Lambert asked. That was about the only thing he could think of that would need hiding.

"If I tell you, you have to understand that you telling anyone else will do more harm to me than the dagger that caused them," Jaskier said with a heavy sigh.

“Here.” Lambert pulled a knife from his belt and tossed it at his feet. “Guardsman’s oath: I speak, you scar my lip. I’ve kept several of them as you can see.” He smiled, and his lip was clearly unmarred.

Jaskier nodded and glanced at the others. They were too far off to hear him, and too invested in their own conversation to care. "I had a claw dagger held to my throat and was taken by force more than once by the leader of a group of rogues. I used to have longer hair, but he took that, too, the first time we met," he said plainly. It was clear in his tone that he wasn't going to elaborate.

Lambert’s eyes went wide, then he tucked his head down so as not to stare and make Jaskier uncomfortable. “Shit,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry.” Then, he looked up. _Claw dagger?_

“Do you mean Drache Dagger of Redania?” he asked, now alert.

"Who else? The bastard has free reign in the city for some god forsaken reason," he muttered.

“Drache’s dead.”

"When? And how? I saw him a few days ago."

“Ger—” Lambert stopped himself. He and Eskel had been listening in at the door after sending Geralt to see Vesemir. He hadn’t made an oath, but if Vesemir promised never to speak of it, he knew better than to do so himself.

He cleared his throat. “Guards found his body in front of a tavern on the wharf. Word is, he and one of his men got into a drunken scuffle. They found him with a dagger in his throat, in a puddle of his own blood just this morning.”

"Serves the bastard right. I'm honestly surprised it’s taken this long for someone to take him down."

“He hadn’t yet gotten to a target important enough to be a threat,” he replied, in echo of Geralt’s observation. Then he looked at Jaskier with horror. “Oh, but gods above! If anyone knew about—!” Well, that’d get some very expensive knickers in a twist. It’s better he died quietly. Jaskier might’ve been noble enough to put a target on Drache’s back, and two high powers at odds always led to escalation.

“This is exactly what I meant. This is between us,” he said firmly before pulling a knee up to his chest. “I’ll be turning in soon.”

Lambert nodded, too stunned to think of anything more. He was _glad_ Geralt had had his affair; if not for that, Drache would still be breathing, and Jaskier would be …

Lambert suddenly remembered where he’d heard the name.

He cast a quick glance at Jaskier. “Fuck,” he whispered, realization dawning. The odds were impossible, and yet, there it was.

Jaskier got up and stretched a bit before retreating to his bedroll. “Sleep well, Lambert.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, you too.” He’d seen a bite bark on Jaskier’s neck as he’d stretched. And then Lambert shivered with a gag. “Oh merciful gods,” he groaned. That had been _Geralt’s_ doing! All of that from before! He did _not_ need to know that.

Jaskier glanced back at him for a moment before settling into his bedroll. He ran his finger lazily along some of the marks Geralt had left him with, and tried to memorize their placement. They were his last reminder of their affections, outside of the ring he wore on a cord under his doublet. They were reminders of his touch, of his voice, of things he didn't want to forget.

Meanwhile, Lambert was in crisis. This whole situation was beyond fucked up, and for once, he was the only one in the know. Actually, he felt a bit of pride in that, knowing he alone held all the cards, but the image of Geralt on Jaskier’s neck made him squeeze his eyes shut again with a grimace. He much preferred the time when Geralt lived a wonderfully celibate life at court. And now he had to live with the knowledge that he was an enthusiastic biter. He felt like he’d just walked in on his own parents fucking in the kitchen.

But Jaskier and Julian were one and the same—that meant that Jaskier’s lover and Geralt were too. Geralt was going to be in for a hell of a time when he found out. Jaskier’s fury simmered hot under the surface. It would not be pleasant. And Geralt’s remorse for their people and the pain he’d caused the duke—fuck, caused _Jaskier_ —would only send him into a spiral when he realized. First thing when they arrived in Rivia, Lambert was making himself scarce. He did not want to be in the room when that revelation came to light.

* * *

Geralt had been pacing the hall for days as the preparations were made, much to the discomfort of his servants. He was always present in odd places, trying to do tasks unbefitting of an earl. Since his arrival, he’d gotten up with the dawn, and he’d nearly given one of the kitchen maids a heart attack when she got up to make breakfast only to find him in the kitchen, stirring a pot of oats himself. Vesemir tried to convince him to stay out of their way, but as he was forbidden from leaving the estate house, he couldn’t even go for a ride. He spent hours sitting with Roach in the stable, brushing her and polishing the tack. This need of his to be always occupied put everyone on edge.

But that was Geralt. In three years, he’d never found himself so _idle_. It left him alone with his thoughts far too much for comfort. There was a lot of thinking to do. For instance, what would he say to the duke? There was no excuse, no apology that would make up for two and a half years of being slogged with gossip and insults of the court. Eloquent people crafted lofty, cruel insults.

Today, he was scrubbing at the banisters of the main stair, having stolen the rag from a fretting worker who stood with their tongue tied at his side. He paid them no mind. He was on his twentieth draft, trying to think up some pathetic speech, coming up dry. Today the duke would be arriving, already spotted within thirty miles. Geralt was in no way prepared, and his manic behaviour had only gotten worse in the last few days. Now that the inevitable hour was approaching, his panic was in full swing. He scrubbed harder.

“Please, Your Lordship,” the worker pleaded, “that isn’t the wa—”

“Isn’t the way things are done, I _know_.” Geralt snapped, finally dangling from the end of his rope. He unloaded everything all at once as the poor thing stood by, turning pale with his every word. “But I’m doing everything else the _way things are done_ : getting married, arranging trade routes and negotiations, eating with an absurd number of forks and spoons at every meal, and speaking like a prick with a silver spoon shoved up my ass! I can’t sit still! The least I can do is help clean my own house, so don’t you dare try and take this rag from me. Go have a pear or something; there’s a mountain of them in the kitchen. Just leave me in peace.”

The worker scurried away on shaking legs.

Eskel stepped out from a room nearby; he was never too far from his lord nowadays. He was his guard, but he was also the one making sure to keep Geralt from running again. The chances of that were slim of course, but Vesemir wasn't going to be taking chances after the last time.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly fair, my lord,” Eskel said bluntly, the moniker sounding pointless on his tongue. “The duke should be here by noon; he sent a rider from his party ahead to deliver the news.”

Geralt threw down the rag and plonked his forehead against the rail he’d been polishing hard enough to strip away the finish. “I can’t do this, Eskel,” he panted. In the last month at home, he’d slowly come to hear some of the things people had spread about Julian Pankratz. Awful things. Terrible. He felt on the verge of a heart attack. If he stopped for one moment, he felt like he’d drop.

"But you will. Besides, if you had the perseverance to run from Lambert and I for three years, you can handle a haughty duke for however long it takes for you both to adjust," Eskel teased before patting his shoulder. "Things will become normal after a while, and he's not an unattractive man," he offered in an attempt to console him, even though he knew it wouldn't get him far.

“I’m not talking about the _wedding,_ Eskel. I’m talking about the d _uke._ I’m not prepared. I can’t face him after what I’ve learned.” He put a hand to his throat. “I think I need to find a window,” he added, his stomach turning.

"There's a chamber pot in the closet next to the stairs," Eskel offered. "And I can get you an hour to prepare yourself once he arrives. I doubt you'll be able to make things worse, so keeping him waiting can't do too much damage."

“You underestimate my talent for cocking things up,” he mumbled, trying to tilt his head back before the bile could rise. Then he felt the slickness of the linseed oil on his hands from polishing and looked back down. He looked himself over, his clothes, his bare feet. The entire time, he’d been strolling around the estate as if he’d be walking around in his loft. There was no mirror nearby, but he was sure his hair was a greasy mess.

“Fuck, will an hour be long enough?” he asked. “I … I need a bath. Fuck, I need a _meal_. No, I’ll only waste it when it comes back up. Please, send someone to get some water; I don’t think I can carry it myself. Look at my hands, Eskel. I’m shaking like a wet dog. What _time_ is it!”

"Quarter till eleven," Eskel said evenly before steadying Geralt by setting his hands on his shoulders. "Go pick out what you're going to wear; I'll have the maids fetch water and soaps for a bath, and I'll send someone to iron your clothes and polish your boots. Take a breath, it'll alright."

Geralt shook his head. “I can’t. I’ve forgotten how,” he replied.

"I can punch you in the gut, that'll get you gasping for air," Eskel offered with a chuckle. "Now get going."

“I’d only end up emptying my stomach on your shirt.” Geralt allowed himself to be pushed toward the first step. He braced himself against the banister. Mechanically, he started upwards toward his room.

In preparation for the day, his outfit had already been decided. It saw on his dresser, folded neatly. It would be the first of his old things he’d wear in three years, and he wished he’d at least tried something else on instead of stubbornly keeping to his worldly clothes. The sudden change would only make things more difficult.

He laid them out with his boots on a chair to be fetched away, then he sat a moment on his bed, head cradled in his hands. Eyes closed, he breathed in and out, trying to slow his racing heart. This was it. Time to make the final adjustment.

When the he heard the splash of the tub being filled next door, he jumped to his feet, startled.

Vesemir knocked at his door for a moment before letting himself in. "Eskel told me you were getting ready. How do you feel? I know this isn't easy on you, but I'm glad you're seeing it through,” he said gently.

“I’m getting dressed, but I’ll never be _ready,”_ he contradicted. “I think I’ll drop dead at the sight of him.”

"Well, I expect he has similar anxieties about you," Vesemir said with a soft sigh before pulling something from his pockets. "I have a gift for you. I figured it would be nice for you to take it now, since they weren't here to see you off," he said before holding up a pair of rings for him. When he looked closer he would see one held his mother's family crest and the other held his father's.

Geralt finally sat still for the first time since they’d arrived. He looked at the rings, then at Vesemir. “You’re _trying_ to kill me,” he said, voice flat. “I haven’t even met the man yet. He’s going to arrive to a corpse.”

Vesemir sat beside him and pushed the rings into his hands. "You'll do fine, I know you will,” he insisted gently. "I won't let you die before you meet him."

Geralt sighed, turning the rings over in hand. As he leaned forward to inspect them, a ribbon slipped over his shoulder. It was light blue, embroidered with buttercups, and it held a braid in place, half hidden among the rest of his hair. It was Jaskier’s ribbon, unwoven from the bundle. He kept it as a comforting token: something he could carry with him. He could not wear the braid like Drache around his wrist, could not even fathom the dishonour. This way was something gentler. It marked him as Jaskier's, not the other way round.

“How can you be so sure?” Geralt asked.

"Because I know you Geralt: I know your heart, and I know your mind. You will do the right thing, you will fix your errors. You will do well." He patted his shoulder before standing up, not commenting on the ribbon.

“I wish I had your faith.” Geralt set the rings on his bedside table and stood. Despite his apprehension, Vesemir’s calm words broke through, soothing him. There would be time in the bath to think things over. He’d find something to say.

Vesemir made his way to the door. "You have my faith in you; hopefully that will be enough,” he said as he smiled back at him slightly.

“It’ll have to be.”

Geralt watched the door close behind him before turning to the other. Inside, the bath was poured and the steam floated up, some of it flowing out the open window. A chamber pot sat beside it and Geralt chuckled, wondering whether it had been Eskel’s doing or if the maids had come to anticipate his newly emerged need.

With some reluctance, Geralt untied the ribbon and smoothed out the braid. He’d do it again when he emerged, but it pained him each time, knowing it was not the original braid Jaskier had woven for him. He missed Jaskier’s hands in his hair, longed for their gentle touch.

As he soaked and scrubbed, his mind supplied more apologies. Sometimes they were for Jaskier, reliving their parting moments, but more often they were for the duke. There was nothing for it. He knew nothing he could say would take things back, so he tried to look forward to what he might do to shield the man from the court’s ire in the future. The wedding would bring them and their wagging tongues all together with renewed force. But nothing was good enough.

He stayed in the tub long enough to hear the knock on his chamber door: a servant arriving with his freshly ironed clothes and polished boots. The water had grown cold, but he could not bring himself to leave it until he had a plan. In the end, it seemed he was doomed to dress and offer himself forth without one. At least this time it wouldn’t be with a guard twisting his arm.

Geralt dried himself and braided the ribbon back in place before dressing. He took a good look in the mirror. His reflection was neat, tidy, and showed that he’d made an effort. Before he left his room, he slipped the rings into his pocket like a charm for luck. He did not yet know if he’d have the will in him to give one away.

There was a knock at his door at noon and Eskel spoke plainly. "They just rode up; take your time, he'll be waiting in the study when you're ready." Geralt could hear him walk off without waiting for a response. The guard hurried downstairs to meet Vesemir while they waited.

Geralt took a deep breath. He sat for some time, staring at his boots before at last making his way toward the door. He could do this. It was a lie, but he could do this. There was nothing left to do but face the duke.

* * *

Jaskier sent his men off with their horses and walked to the door of the manor with Lambert at his side. He attempted a smile, but for once it was clear how fake it was. His eyes were still red from the night before, and he looked rough from the ride in, but that clearly didn't deter him from knocking at the door.

"Gods give me strength," he muttered mostly to himself as he braced himself to face the man he was to marry. His voice was low and rough, changed and tired from days of wear. It was almost unrecognizable, lacking its usual melodic qualities and cheer.

“Do you need to take a minute?” Lambert asked. “Maybe figure out what you want to say?”

“I’ve had three years to figure that out, and I could never find words past _fuck you_ ,” he said with a heavy sigh as he waited for an answer at the door.

“Fair enough.” Lambert felt himself beginning to sweat. He wondered whether he should say anything, prepare Jaskier for what lay ahead. He had almost found the courage to open his mouth and speak when the door swung inward, Eskel’s face greeting them from the other side.

“I saw you coming up the lawn,” he said. He gave a formal bow as he cleared the entry for Jaskier. “Welcome, Your Grace, to the Eskalott estate.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and gave him a weary smile. “Eskel, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said politely as he stepped inside and looked around for a moment. It was smaller than his home but felt cozier by the looks of it. “It’s usually customary for the lord of the manor to greet guests like this, where is he?”

“His Lordship, Earl of Eskalott is preparing himself now. We had a bit of a late start this morning; he was busy personally overseeing the arrangements for your arrival.” A bit _too_ personally, but he did not say so. “May I escort you to the study in the meantime?”

“You may,” he said stiffly before folding his arms behind his back. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could hardly think through the nerves. He felt the heavy ring that hung around his neck shift while he walked and he forced himself to relax. He wouldn’t falter, not in this house.

Vesemir stepped forward with another bow. As Jaskier headed into the house, he raised a hand to dismiss the servants. They’d lined up on the drive to greet the duke on his arrival, and once the doors were closed, they dispersed back to their duties.

“How was your journey?” he asked, stepping up a pace behind Jaskier. He turned slightly to give Lambert a suspicious look.

“Much better with your man along with me,” he said gently as he walked along with them. “He’s a better companion than my guards, even if he runs his mouth sometimes.”

“You _wanted_ me to run my mouth!” Lambert protested, indignant. “Half the time, you initiated the conversation.”

Eskel snickered and the formal air was broken. “I’m surprised his ears haven’t fallen off,” he said, smiling at his friend.

“Another comment like that and I’ll _cut_ yours off. Find some other shoulder to haunt, you vulture.”

Vesemir cleared his throat meaningfully before they could begin further squabbling, then he turned his attention back to Jaskier. “Forgive them; they’ll be like that until they settle in. It’s how they express they’ve missed one another. I've gotten used to it and so long as they don't start _wrestling_ in the foyer, I'm afraid I've let them have their way.” He said this last with a pointed tone and the two of them stood another pace apart.

Jaskier couldn’t help his chuckle. He was more than thankful for their unruliness. The tension was starting to grow far too thick, far too soon, and a laugh was more than he had hoped for.

“Truly, I don’t mind. If I did I wouldn’t have lasted one day with your man,” he teased as they approached the study door.

"Then I'll make the scolding light," Vesemir said, having a small joke of his own. He opened the door for Jaskier and ushered him inside. “His Lordship will be along in a moment to meet you. We’ll return in an hour to see how you’re getting on. Is there anything you’ll be needing in the meantime?” he asked.

“Some water would be preferable, but otherwise, I’m alright,” he said politely as he stepped in and made his way to a chair.

“What’s he doing?” Eskel whispered, leaning closer to Lambert. “Isn’t he supposed to stay and announce his arrival, like always? ‘Now announcing his Lordship G—'”

“Eskel! Let’s go raid the kitchen, now that we’re off duty,” Lambert cheered, cutting him off by wrapping an arm around his neck and tugging him back toward the open hall. “Leave Vesemir to the announcements; didn’t you hear _Jaskier?_ He’d like a glass of water.”

“Jaskier? You mean—”

Lambert tugged him again so he nearly lost his footing. He smiled over his shoulder with a careless wave. “Ta-ta, Your Grace! I’ll see you in an hour.”

Vesemir shook his head at their antics. With a final bow, he closed the door, leaving Jaskier to his thoughts.

Jaskier paced the room he had been told to wait in for maybe the thirtieth time now. Thoughts and words rang in his head but he couldn’t find structure to it, not yet. He had given up on sitting, and his throat was sore from the days before. He had hardly slept, and in those nights, he found himself desperately clutching to memories of his lover.

Golden eyes and silver hair were starting to fade ever so slightly with each passing day. He couldn’t remember all of his scars anymore, and the sound of his laugh in the pear orchard had been washed out completely, and he couldn’t help the sobs that escaped him with each realization.

All of that left him where he was now. Pacing and fiddling with a signet ring that he would be more attached to than any ring he would be allowed to wear. Waiting for far too long for a husband he doubted he could love.

Geralt’s footsteps echoed down the hall at his approach. He rubbed his thumb against his knuckle, walking slowly, his head empty of anything coherent. The ribbon shifted against his ear, a grounding touch. He tried now only a few simple greetings for when he opened the study door, knowing it was all he could possibly manage to say. He repeated them like a chant in his mind, not yet ready to speak anything out loud. The next moment, he was standing before the closed doors, a hand raised to knock.

A minute passed and he could not bring himself to do it.

Jaskier had paused at the sound and waited, waited for something—anything—and when it didn’t come he walked over to the door himself and decided he’d had enough.

“You can’t even face me; it’s been three years and you still can’t bare the sight of me.” Jaskier’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Do you have any idea the things I’ve gone through for you? The things I’ve endured for you to hide yourself behind that door?”

He paused and attempted to compose himself before the loose stitches holding him together fell apart.

“You abandoned me in Lyria. You tossed me to the wolves and let them eat me alive for years. You lacked the decency to even return home on your own—your men had to hunt you down so you would even consider going through with this. I have done everything to be the perfect husband. I dutifully waited for your return, I learned your history, your culture, I even traveled through these unwelcoming lands hoping that I would be able to prove myself worthy of you. But nothing is good enough, is it?”

He took a deep breath and it trembled as he exhaled. “You have done nothing but cause me pain since you ran. Even when I left, misery chased after me like a rabid hound. I faced horrors that I won’t lower myself to repeat and I knew love just long enough to feel it ripped away. He was a better man than you’d ever dream to be. He would face me.”

Jaskier could barely get the words out before sobs over took him and he crumpled to the floor with his arms tight around his knees. He tried to force out more words but sobs filled their space before he could find them.

Geralt was stunned speechless. Every possible truth that he’d torn into himself over the last month, flung right back at him with righteous fury. And then some. He couldn’t believe the rest, the new. He’d never known the lengths he’d gone through to make him happy. Learning his culture and history, the things that were most important to him, the very things that gave him pride of his lands and his people, and he hadn’t even extended an ounce of the same courtesy.

The man’s voice was raw as it tore straight into his heart, ripping at its strings. And after everything he’d endured, he’d found love. He’d had to give it up. For him. For a wretch like him. And he didn’t even have a word to defend himself. All he could do was the one thing he couldn’t three years ago.

Geralt opened the door.

The latch clicked as it slowly pulled from the frame. Just behind the door, Geralt saw the top of a rumpled brown head atop a curled up frame. Now, he could quite clearly hear the sobs that wracked the man’s shoulders. The sight stabbed straight through him, chilling his blood with a pity he didn’t deserve to feel toward the man. He reached out, then withdrew his hand again, hesitating. What comfort could _he_ offer? He was the source of his pain.

He swallowed, then said the very first thing that entered his head. It was not a comforting phrase, nor a greeting. It was not even an apology.

“I named her Roach,” he said, voice strained. He bit his tongue so hard he was sure he’d bite through it. “Fuck, that’s not what I—! I rehearsed this, damn it.”

Jaskier paused and looked up at him. His shoulders were still shaking slightly but his eyes softened as he looked him over, unsure if it was real until he saw the braid.

“You bastard … ” he said softly, although he had lost any fire behind it.

“Yes, I know I’m … ”

Then Geralt saw his face. His eyes widened and the breath caught in his lungs. “Jaskier?” he breathed. He suddenly found that he well and truly had forgotten _how_ to breathe, the single word being the only exception. His blood began to flow again and all at once his head became intolerably light.

Jaskier held his arms out for him, finding himself overwhelmed and not wanting to risk falling as he tried to drag him into a hug.

“Geralt … I—how?

Geralt’s legs gave out from under him and he slid against the door frame until he was kneeling before Jaskier, enfolding him with shaking arms. He shook his head in disbelief. He brushed Jaskier’s hair away, rubbed the tears from his eyes. The tears were wet, his hair soft and no apparition, but Geralt had to touch, to know that this was true.

“I don’t know,” he said, tears beginning to flow from his own eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t have any answers for you. I don’t even know if this is real yet.”

Jaskier just tangled his hands in his shirt and hugged him tighter. “You bastard, you fucking bastard, how dare you make me love you,” he mumbled into his shirt, not daring to let him go. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, he was so happy but anger was still just below the surface. He was the love of his life but also the one who’d caused him the most pain.

“What did I _do_ to you?” Geralt sobbed. He dug his fingers into Jaskier’s doublet, holding him to his chest. Once more he found himself unable to look him in the eye, but for a greater shame. “Please don’t take it back. Please, it will be the death of me, Jaskier,” he begged. “I can never make it up to you, but don’t tell me you hate me. Don’t damn me to that fate.”

“I could never hate you,” he mumbled softly, closing his eyes and just relishing in the sound of his voice. “But why did you do it? You abandoned me,” he said brokenly.

Geralt buried his face against Jaskier's neck and another sob rose: one of short-lived relief. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t think anything would come of it—I wasn’t thinking at all. I was scared to leave my home, my family: Vesemir, Eskel—even that idiot Lambert. They were all I had left. I … I thought nobody would kick up a fuss over an earl, not where a duke was concerned. And I didn’t think anyone would ridicule a duke. But I was wrong. Gods above, I’ve heard the things they’ve said and I was wrong.”

“You should have talked to us—to me. I never would have pushed you, I never would have done anything to hurt you,” he said weakly as he ran his hands through his hair. “I wish we met a long time ago, long before any of this could have happened.”

Geralt’s words were muffled, his voice already weak and difficult to hear. “I wasn’t loud enough,” he said. “I never learned to speak up until I left. I just sat and let everything happen around me until I couldn’t do anything but run. I thought I would never do anything to hurt you—that I would ensure your happiness—but I ruined three long years of your life!” He buried his face closer, smudging wet tears into Jaskier’s skin. He thought he'd break the moment he felt those fingers in his hair. It was more than he deserved.

Jaskier couldn’t find words at that point and took to just holding Geralt close, calming slightly and slowly starting to relax. He wanted to scream, or to cry, but he just sat there in his arms for a while.

“I missed you, I missed you so much.”

“I’m here,” Geralt said. He smoothed a hand down Jaskier’s back comfortingly. “And you should know, I came willingly. Perhaps not under the best circumstances, but you inspired me to do it. I wanted to become more like you—more like myself again. And I’m not saying it to win favour with you; it’s the truth. They caught me, put me on the boat, and I escaped only once more to see you and finish one last piece of business, and before then I thought I'd go on running. But you convinced me. When you said you'd return to honour your duty, I was inspired to honour mine. I stopped running then. And now I'm here. I promise I'll stay—please stay _with_ me.”

“I could never run from you,” he said gently, pulling back to look at him. “It took a full company of men to break us apart the first time,” he added. “I’m still upset with you though, Geralt, I meant what I said … ”

Geralt nodded. “I know; you have every right to be. You can be upset as long as you need. I know I can never make it up to you, but as long as you’d be willing to let me try, I will spend every day doing so,” he vowed.

Jaskier pressed a kiss to his cheek and sighed softly. “I trust that you will. I just need time more than anything else,” he said gently.

“Time alone?” Geralt asked. He’d be willing to keep his distance if that was what Jaskier wanted.

“No, just time,” he said. “I doubt I could stand to be without you.”

Geralt exhaled. He’d been worried for a moment. “I’d be sick if we were apart again for too long, but I’d do it,” he said. He pressed their foreheads together, closing his eyes. It was a blessing just to breathe the same air. He sighed, moving so that Jaskier’s hands rested in his. “I’d do anything for you; I hope you know that. I’d kill for you, even.”

“I need you to do nothing more than stay with me,” he said softly before finally kissing him again. Tension left his form and he finally fully settled in Geralt’s arms.

Geralt rested his head against Jaskier’s, feeling the warmth and weight of him. “How was the journey?” he asked, at last remembering his manners as host. “No trouble, I trust. Apart from Lambert’s attitude,” he added with a chuckle.

“Lambert was a welcomed addition. I would have died of boredom if not for him,” Jaskier said lazily as he ran his hands through his hair again. “He reads people well, which was startling to say the least.”

“Hmm, he has to have _some_ talents,” Geralt replied. Then he gave Jaskier a soft swat on the chest with his hand. “But don’t even joke about dying; I’m still reeling from the last threat.”

“What do you mean?” he asked gently, his thoughts still swimming from everything that had happened in the past half hour.

Geralt closed his eyes, the unpleasant scene passing through his thoughts. He didn’t want to think about it now, not when there were happier things to revel in. “Never you mind; I took care of it before I left,” he assured.

Jaskier gave him a knowing look but didn’t press. “Fair enough,” he said softly, letting that be the end of it before changing subjects. “They’ll put me in the guest quarters, but they’ll have to chain me there if they plan to keep me from your side.”

“As master of the house, I’ll order all the chains melted down at once.” Geralt chuckled, giving him a squeeze. “Sharing a bed before the wedding; I wonder what people will find to say about _that.”_

“Nothing they haven’t already said in forty different ways,” Jaskier teased back before kissing him again. All of this just felt right. For once, things were working in his favor.

Geralt continued the kissing awhile longer without speaking. Then, he pulled back slightly, looking into the space over Jaskier’s shoulder. His brow furrowed thoughtfully.

“What is it?” Jaskier asked gently, cupping his cheek in his hand, and drawing his attention back to him as he spoke.

Geralt looked him in the eye, a hint of awe in his expression. “I spent a month,” he began, “trying to think of some plan or other for when I met you and I couldn’t think of a single thing. Now you’re here, and all at once my mind is in working order. I’ve just had a thought, but I’m not sure what you’ll think of it.”

Jaskier chuckled softly and kissed his forehead gently. “Well, why don’t you tell me what it is, and I’ll let you know?” he teased.

Geralt nodded and cleared his throat. “I can’t do anything about the pain you’ve suffered through in my absence, and I can’t take back a single insult or rumor spoken, but … I think I’ve thought of a way to turn the court’s sympathies in your favour again and wipe the slate of your reputation clean.”

“What are you planning? I won’t have you soiling your reputation in exchange for mine,” he said firmly.

“No, I believe it would benefit us both. Just now, I thought how much I’d like to forget these last three years happened at all, to someday put it behind us. I’ve been frightening my servants, cooking, cleaning, walking around without a single boot on either foot and my shirt untucked. They’ve all been talking about how I’ve forgotten everything about life as an earl and what it entails.”

Geralt looked down at Jaskier then, eyes serious. “What if we say I did?” he asked.

“That’s ridiculous,” Jaskier replied, squinting at him slightly. “But it might work. The question is how will you get Vesemir to agree to your plan?”

“He’ll agree quite easily, once he sees the brilliance of it.” The idea began to take true form as Geralt thought it through. “Imagine this: the day I ran away, instead of running, I was out for a ride on Roach, enjoying my new engagement present, dreaming of the forthcoming wedding, when who should travel up the main road but Drache Dagger, slayer of noblemen. Finding me alone with no guard for protection, naive in the safety of my own lands, he attacks. I suffer severe trauma to the head and pass out on my horse. Roach, being a fine Lyrian horse, trained from birth, carries me away from the scene of the accident. Drache’s dead—he’d never be able to refute it. But then I awake with no memory: a wanderer,” he said, waving his hand.

“But then—!” Geralt continued. “After living in Novigrad, my men and the guards finally find me in a confrontation with Drache Dagger, come to finish the job. Nobody would need to know the Lyrians struck a deal with him. The shock of meeting with Drache again and that of his subsequent death brings the memories rushing back to me all at once. Joyfully I return to my homeland and the arms of my beloved fiancé.”

Geralt grinned wide, the story unfolding on its own. “It works from an economic viewpoint as well. Drache of Redania would find himself threatened by the union of Rivia and Lyria. To prevent the strong trade alliance, knowing his own territory would suffer under the monopoly, he would have lain in wait, knowing my habit of riding into the country in the springtime. And when was our engagement announced?” he asked with a wink. “Why, just before the first thaw!”

Jaskier couldn’t help his laugh at the thought of it. “This sounds like I’ll be doing quite a lot of talking and weeping with joy at events for the next few years,” he teased.

“Picture the looks you’ll get from all those courtiers, blubbing and offering their sympathies. You’ll be given the most generous wedding presents in the history of the Continent.”

Then, feeling playful, Geralt continued his bit. "Next, they'll turn to me and offer their condolences, ask a hundred questions about my life abroad." Geralt closed his eyes and raised a hand to his temple dramatically, putting on a show. In a waifish voice, he cried, “I try to block out the memories of those trying times. I was forced to do such terrible things for the sake of survival. I kissed an eighty-year-old woman for a simple pudding, and she stuck her tongue down my poor throat. Surely no man was ever brought so low.”

Jaskier couldn’t help laughing again. He shoved Geralt playfully and moved to stand up. “Oh, I can’t wait to see you playing at being lordly. I just can’t imagine it.”

Geralt lay back on the ground, a hand poised in the air. “Call for a footman!” he cried. “My delicate, lordly disposition has prevented me from raising myself from the ground! Someone fetch my smelling salts! Send for the leeches!”

Lambert turned the corner and made his way into the office. He glanced up at Jaskier for a moment before turning back to Geralt. “I thought he was supposed to be the dramatic one,” he said bluntly, which had Jaskier doubled over with giggles.

Geralt gawked at Lambert, caught in the compromising position of goofing for a private audience. He sat up, looking at the far wall. Then he stood, adjusted his clothes, and wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder, continuing to look neither of them in the eye as his ears slowly turned pink. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until the end of the hour,” he mumbled.

“I heard you yelling. I wasn’t sure if Jaskier needed help holding you down or not,” he said with a shrug, before stepping back towards the door. “I’ll leave you two now, I don’t want to interrupt further.”

They could see Eskel glaring at Lambert from the hallway before he hurried off.

“Hold me _down?_ What did he think I was going to do to you?” Geralt asked. He looked at Jaskier, confusion overtaking is embarrassment.

“Oh no, he regularly offered to help me kill you,” Jaskier said with a chuckle before sitting up on the desk. “He was kidding most of the time.”

Geralt closed the door with a snort. “As if he’d be able to now. I’ll have to challenge him to a match some time, see how I measure up against some of my own men.” Then he turned back to Jaskier with a smile. “Funny. It turns out that I was hoping _I’d_ die and leave you free for myself. I might’ve cursed myself if I ever did a mage a favor.”

“To be fair, you did curse my name in front of me, truly it’s ridiculous that we didn’t put it together,” Jaskier said lazily before reaching out for him.

“Sorry for that. I think I can make _that_ up to you at least.” Geralt closed the distance and settled his hands on Jaskier’s hips. “I wonder what we would have done if we’d known for the start. Things probably wouldn’t be as friendly between us, I’d wager.”

“Oh, I would have torn you apart in the bar, instead of inviting you into my bed.” He wrapped a leg around Geralt’s hip as he spoke.

“You think you’d get the chance? Maybe I’d get you first,” Geralt said, pulling Jaskier closer, sliding him down the surface of the desk.

“I would have loved to see you try. You’re good with swords, by my tongue is sharper than either of their blades,” Jaskier chuckled lazily as he pushed the hair from Geralt’s eyes.

“Unless you can do magic with it, your tongue wouldn’t be enough to kill me,” he argued. Jaskier didn't strike him as a secret sorcerer.

“Oh, so you would have killed me there?” He chuckled. “I’m far too pretty to die like that. Besides, I had your heart by the end of my first verse.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I didn’t say _I’d_ kill you; you’re the one who wanted me in pieces. I would have tied you up, tossed you on a boat back to Lyria, and made my merry way to the next city. Then again, maybe not. If I found you singing.” He denied neither of Jaskier’s other claims. He was a prat, but he was right.

“It always comes back to you tying me up, doesn’t it?” Jaskier couldn’t help but tease. “And I meant metaphorical pieces, I’m not fond of blood.”

“Oh, shut up about the tying thing,” Geralt chided. He gave Jaskier’s hip a firm squeeze. “As if you didn’t have fun the first time,” he added.

“I’d have more fun if they were proper ties instead of my clothing.” Jaskier chuckled lazily before tangling a hand in Geralt’s hair and drawing him into a kiss.

Geralt closed his eyes and sighed. He could spend hours with Jaskier’s fingers in his hair, with Jaskier’s lips against his. And, he realized, he’d have all the time in the world to do it. He kissed him again, running a hand down the side of his leg. What was the opposite of a curse? It was the next thing that came tumbling from his lips.

 _“Julian,”_ he whispered reverently.

“It sounds perfect on your lips,” he said warmly before running his thumb along Geralt’s bottom lip. “Like honey and sweet wine, something I could get drunk on without realizing it.”

“I’ve cursed you name quite a lot more. Might take some time to replace them all.” Geralt smiled and placed his hand over Jaskier’s, guiding it back behind his neck. Without the obtrusion between them, he leaned forward to give him another long kiss. “Though, I think I’m fondest of Jaskier,” he said.

Jaskier blushed faintly and kissed him again before he responded, letting himself sink into the sweet familiarity of Geralt’s touch. “It’s the name you knew as you fell in love with me; I should hope that you’d be fond of it,” he said warmly

“Maybe I’ll switch now and then, keep you guessing which I’ll whisper next,” he suggested, eyes shining with mischief. “Perhaps tonight when we’re alone, it’ll be Julian again, and at our wedding, I’ll make the vow to Jaskier in front of the congregation. I’ll keep you wondering whether it’ll be Jaskier of Julian I cry in the quiet of the night under your masterful ministrations, which I’ll use to greet you in the early light. I doubt if even I will know until I do.”

Jaskier chuckled and pulled Geralt’s hair gently. “We could settle one of those skeptic notions now?” he hummed lazily. “You have me all but pinned to your desk, I’m surprised by your restraint,” he teased.

It was Geralt’s turn to blush then. He cleared his throat and nodded toward the door. “The, ah … they tend to pass through the halls. We’re not exactly quiet. And Vesemir was coming to see us at the end of the hour.”

Jaskier chuckled softly and simply pulled Geralt into another kiss. “Fine, my lord, but if I must wait, you should make it up to me tonight,” he teased before running his fingers along his ribbon.

“Trust me, it’s going to be difficult for me as well,” Geralt replied, gazing at Jaskier with a strained expression. He was there in his arms that very moment, but it felt like he was out of reach every time he leaned back for breath. He kissed Jaskier’s neck and rested against his shoulder. “I can’t describe how much I’ve missed you,” he sighed.

Jaskier’s hand rested in his hair, and he played lazily with the silky ends. “You don’t need to, that heart ache is all too familiar, love,” he said warmly. “Every step from the city felt like a step further from my own happiness. The day my memories started to lose their luster was one of the worst I’ve ever faced.”

“I love you,” Geralt repeated. “Every moment, a little more. I love you, Jaskier.” He could think of little else. “We’re here now and there’ll be no reason to forget again. Distance won’t be able to dull the memory.”

Jaskier pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I love you too. I’m lucky to have you; I’m lucky to be yours,” he said sweetly. “I intend to spend the rest of my days reveling in that luck, in your love, until my heart gives out.”

“That reminds me. There’s another duty I was meant to see through. Hopefully your dear heart won’t give out before I’ve had the chance to do it.”

Geralt gave him a last kiss before pulling away. From his pocket, he retrieved the two rings. He knelt down in front of Jaskier, rings raised in his open palm. “These rings are a token from my parents,” he began. “Theirs was an arrangement much like ours, though things went smoother for them from the start.” He chuckled, shaking his head at the whole foolish affair. “They would have wanted these rings to be shared between two people who were equally as in love with one another. That was their hope for me. Today, I know I can make them proud when I ask. I’m sure I’ve kept you waiting long enough.”

Geralt took a breath, even as he thought he knew Jaskier’s heart. It was not a difficult question, but he was too overcome. Another breath, then, meeting his eyes, he spoke. 

“I want to ask you for myself now. Will you, Julian Alfred Pankratz, Duke of Lettenhove—will you marry me?”

Jaskier was stunned for a brief moment as he listened to him. Geralt didn’t need to ask, he never needed to ask him, he knew the answer. “Yes, my love. Yes a thousand times over, I’ll marry you,” he said sincerely before pulling him into a tight hug. “I can hardly believe this is real...”

Geralt squeezed him tight before he pulled away again. “Here,” he said. “Maybe once you’re wearing it, the reality will start to sink in.” He picked up Jaskier’s left hand and made to slip his father’s ring on his finger, then he paused. “Oh,” he said quietly. There’d been another ring there before. He ran his thumb over the bare space.

Jaskier leaned against him slightly, and pulled the signet ring free from his doublet. “I wore it almost every day we were apart,” he said gently as he let their foreheads rest together

Geralt smiled, relieved. “I thought it might’ve been taken from you, just as they’d taken the letter I wrote.” He finished placing the ring on Jaskier’s finger, now with a lighter heart. “You don’t have to choose between them; I hope you’ll wear both. It would make me happy.”

“I prefer your ring on a cord anyways: it rests over my heart. It’s like having you close,” he said sweetly before gently kissing him.

“I wished your braid would have stayed. I had to do it myself.” Geralt pulled the ribboned plait forward for emphasis. “It wasn’t the same. I hope you don’t mind, but I wanted something of you. I took the ribbon,” he said, voice soft. He smiled at its bright colors and rubbed it between his fingers.

“It suits you,” he said softly as he moved his hand up to the braid. “Your one ornament and it’s from me. I find it comforting, to have something of my lovers on me, I hope it brought you some comfort on your journey.”

Geralt squinted. “You wouldn’t have any other tokens on you now, would you?” he asked, a little jealously.

“Well, I left with quite a few bites as well, so in theory yes,” he replied, noting his tone and deciding to tease.

Geralt cast him a sarcastic look. “You knew what I meant.” He wouldn’t mine Jaskier having some tokens of his past loves, provided they were the sort one could put away in a box and take out now and again. Wearing something from another, especially on such a day as their reunion, was a different matter.

“The only one I have is yours. Most take theirs back when things end,” he said gently as he ran his thumb over the ring on his finger

“Forgive me if I’m jealous today. I don’t want to share you right now—in _any_ capacity: not your company, not your attention. At least not for a little while.”

Jaskier kissed his cheek gently. “I intend to be yours and yours alone; I don’t mind jealousy as long as you know you have no reason for it,” he hummed.

“You’re too beautiful for me,” he said, but the playful tone had returned. “You’ll catch many eyes at the events we attend, I’m certain. You may need to reassure me from time to time. Thoroughly.”

He chuckled at that and kissed him gently. “I’ll have to learn how best to do that. A hand held, a cheek kissed, maybe even leaning into your side might do. Or I could tease,” he purred.

“I think you already know how to do that perfectly well. For now, I think walking with me will be enough. Come, take my arm and allow me to lead you around the grounds awhile. I’ve forgotten my manners as host—and it will put Vesemir on edge if we disappear for an hour or so. I have a feeling he’s had a joke at my expense, but I’m not sure what.”

He chuckled softly and moved from the desk to take his arm. “I’ve visited before, but I would never say no to a walk around the grounds. We should be sure to visit the stables as well, I missed Roach.”

Geralt could not contain his grin at those words. “That was exactly what I had in mind,” he said. “Now that I think about it, you two met long before she and I. Did you choose her yourself?” he asked. He pulled Jaskier along and opened the study doors, turning them down a long hallway that lead toward the rear of the estate.

“No, she was chosen by my father; his prized cavalry horse sired her. But I was always fond of the foal, so she made a good gift,” he said warmly as they walked along.

“So you had some influence in the choice at least.” Geralt could imagine Jaskier cooing over the young foal and it filled his heart with renewed affection. Then, he chuckled, placing his free hand behind his back.

“I’m afraid I ought to confess something,” he said. “I may love her just slightly more than you. I’m sure you’ll take the number one spot in time, but I thought it would only be fair to let you know. After all, she’s been my constant companion for a long time. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

Jaskier swatted his arm at that, and pouted up at him. “It may be true, but telling your fiancé that he’s below a horse in your heart is a cruel,” he huffed, before leaning into his side.

Geralt laughed and planted a kiss on his temple to appease him. “But she’s a _very_ special horse,” he argued. “And you did give her to me. I ought to love your gifts.”

As they walked, Geralt began describing the rooms they passed, his love of history shining through. The house was filled with memories. He didn’t have the time for lengthy recounting, but little snippets here and there gave the place character. He mostly talked about the ornaments that decorated the walls: souvenirs of travels with his parents in his early years, gifts from friends and people from foreign lands. They’d have time to go through, room by room, and explore the house together soon enough. Before then, there were more important things to attend to.

Roach stirred at their approach. She’d been put out in the corral for a bit of exercise. Geralt opened the gate and lead Jaskier inside. She looked quite at home in the space. Her coat was shining like the noonday sun, and her mane showed signs of spoiling, being combed impossibly smooth.

Jaskier pulled a sugar cube from his pocket as they got closer, and he offered it up to her with a little smile. “We’ll have to go for a ride at some point. I want to see all of our lands here in Eskalott,” he hummed.

Geralt’s heart softened and his stomach fluttered as Roach took the sugar cube from Jaskier’s hand. _“When_ did you prepare that?” he asked. And why? Had he expected to run off to the stables after their meeting to find comfort in the company of the horses? Certainly Geralt would have, but he found better friends among them in _normal_ circumstances.

“Oh, I try to keep some in my pockets for my gelding. He’s more spoiled than I am,” he said with a chuckle as he rubbed Roach’s face. “She’s such a sweet mare,” he said warmly as he pet her.

Roach nuzzled Jaskier's hand a moment longer, charming him for further treats. Then, she put one foot forward and kneeled, bowing as she had at their introduction.

Geralt grimaced slightly. “Once you’re around more, I hope she won’t make a habit of doing that,” he said. It was sure to be hard on her knees. That, and it felt far too formal. He pulled at his own fine jacket with some concern. “The first day back, Vesemir convinced me to dress in my old clothes. I went all starched and silked to visit Roach and she bowed for _me._ I was so horrified, I had to change at once. I don’t want my horse bowing to me like some lord.”

Jaskier chuckled softly and gave her another treat while Geralt spoke. “She’s more friend than subject to you. It’s sweet,” he said warmly as he moved back against his side. “After what I saw in Novigrad I can hardly imagine her bowing to you though.”

“That’s because we’re standing together this time. When I come out tomorrow, you can stand to the side and you’ll see it. I take comfort in knowing she recognizes me. I like to believe she’s teasing me.”

Another horse, spying them from across the corral, came trotting up for attention—and likely for snacks. Geralt, being already quite familiar with the horses belonging to the estate, did not recognize it and devised its identity at once. He tapped Jaskier’s arm and asked, “Is that your gelding?”

Jaskier nodded and lead him over. It was a beautiful dapple gray gelding, similar to Roach in height and build. He held out his last treat to him with a grin.

“This is Pegasus, he’s the favorite of my horses. I was overjoyed when I was allowed to bring him on the journey,” he hummed.

“He’s a beauty.” Geralt reached out to pet his muzzle, clicking his tongue at it affectionately. His heart beat even faster to know how much Jaskier was fond of horses as well. He couldn't wait to learn what else they might have in common. So far, the most important things were confirmed, and it thrilled him beyond measure that Jaskier could play and sing. “Do you want to take him for a ride?” he asked excitedly, turning back to Jaskier with bright eyes.

“Of course, but it can’t be a very long one; he’s been working hard recently,” Jaskier said with a little smile. “Why don’t you ride him and I’ll take Roach?” he offered as Eskel made his way to the edge of the paddock.

“My lord, we were worried when we couldn’t find you in the study.” Eskel looked over the pair and barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. “Vesemir asked me to find you. What are you doing?

Geralt took one look at Eskel, then he helped himself onto Roach’s back and hauled Jaskier up in front of him. “Running away again!” he cried. Before either of them could respond, he fisted his hands in Roach's mane and ordered her into a gallop. They went bursting through the opening past Eskel. “Mind the gate!” Geralt called over his shoulder. “Don’t let the other horses out!”

His laughter carried over the paddock and he threw his head back, hollering with exhilaration.

Jaskier laughed with him, clutching at Roach’s mane and trying to keep steady on her back as they raced away from the stables. Once they got closer to the trees, Jaskier looked up at him. “Slow done, I’ve been in the saddle for days, and this will only get me more sore,” he teased.

“Your wish is my command,” Geralt chuckled. He gave a gentle tug and Roach slowed to a light trot. Geralt wrapped a hand around Jaskier’s waist. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” he agreed as he leaned back into his chest. “Rivia is still a bit more wild than Lyria,” he noted as he looked over the paths. “It’s quite a handsome place, really.”

“They say the land reflects its owner,” Geralt teased. “I think it might’ve grown wilder in my absence. Of course, it’ll only be worse now that I’m back; I find I prefer exploring natural paths now to polished gardens. They always lead to interesting places, and there’s the thrill of spotting wildlife. The deer like to romp the land just south in the glen. There used to be a fox den, too, in the brambles between the hills.”

“Do you hunt?” he asked as they continued along. Lyria was mostly farmland and scattered villages. It could be quite beautiful, especially in the spring and summer. Flowers covered the entire kingdom and Jaskier knew he would miss it once the snow melted here in Rivia.

“Every peer is expected to hunt some,” Geralt replied indifferently. “I usually reserve it for when I have to entertain the better sportsmen that come to visit. I’m more interested in fishing myself.” Then, he smirked, thinking over his time abroad. "I suppose I did a _bit_ of hunting, but I don't suppose humans count. Besides, I didn't kill any of them."

Well, apart from one exception.

“Yes, but the killing isn’t the thing people tend to enjoy about hunting. In my experience anyways,” he hummed. “It’s more the thrill of the chase, and the camaraderie.”

“Do you enjoy hunting?” Geralt asked.

“No, there used to be fox hunts at home, and I always felt terrible for the poor thing.” He sighed.

“I don’t hunt foxes; I only hunt things I eat. Deer, pheasant, that sort of thing. Fishing is more relaxing and I can stay in the same place for an hour or two, just enjoying the view. I'll take you the hills next spring and we'll see if we can spot the new kits coming out of their den.”

“I would like that,” he said warmly, as he took a moment to look out across the forests. “Next summer we should stay in Lyria. I want to show you my homelands, and they’re in their full glory then.”

“I think I would like that. It would be nice to come to Lyria as an invited guest, opposed to an unwilling captive.” Geralt worried the inside of his cheek. He’d been an invited guest once, but he’d soured that opportunity himself.

He gave her mane another tug, turning Roach. “Let’s take a lap around the lake,” he suggested. “I’m sure Vesemir gave you a tour the first time you came—no tour of Eskalott is complete without a viewing of the titular lake—but he’s so stiff with company. He describes everything like it comes from a dusty schoolbook, and the history of this place is so much more exciting than he makes it out to be. Besides, it’s the focal point of the estate for a reason.”

"Vesemir didn't strike me as _stiff_ , more like you really, a man weary of manners, and flowery things, but comfortable in his ways." Jaskier couldn't help remembering their conversation in Novigrad, and he had to suppress a chuckle. "If he was stiff, he would have had a much more difficult time with me in the city, instead of bringing me to heel with Lambert as the only casualty."

“He’s stiff when he’s on his best behaviour,” Geralt clarified. “I’m not surprised he made you ‘heel’ as you put it. He has a way of making anyone listen to him. Wait until the day you do something worth scolding and he’s comfortable enough with you. It’s impressive.”

"To be fair, the only thing that protected me from that scolding was unfamiliarity," Jaskier teased. "I met him in a dressing gown, covered in the bruises you left behind, and then decided to drink half a bottle of wine while we spoke, and I lived up to Rivian rumors."

Geralt gaped at the back of his head, scandalized. “You _didn’t_.”

"I did, and I made a pass at Eskel too," he teased. "Oh, and had far too much fun baiting Lambert, while acting just as spoiled as I was by you."

Geralt lowered his head to Jaskier’s shoulder and groaned. “Oh, sweet Melitele, please tell me you’re joking. Don’t tell me they actually saw all of that.” The very idea made him feel like _he’d_ flashed the three of them. It was just as exposing.

Jaskier couldn't contain his laughter. "Oh, I know you want me to be lying for once, but you know me too well to know that I wouldn't when it’s this entertaining to tell the truth. I was angry, and embarrassing your men quelled some of it."

“I may fall off the horse,” Geralt threatened dramatically, “just to end it all. Vesemir’s like my father. I don’t think I can look him in the eye now that he’s seen … what he’s seen.”

"I'm afraid you might have to," Jaskier chuckled as he motioned to the man who was meandering towards them astride a large black mare.

Geralt turned his head and nearly _did_ fall. Vesemir was riding around the other end of the lake to catch them up. He regained his composure quickly. If Vesemir knew, he knew. It had been a month, he reasoned with himself. Nothing to be embarrassed by now.

“Care to tell me why Eskel came barreling into the house to tell me you’d gone running off again?” Vesemir asked, striding alongside them. Roach slowed to match his horse’s pace obediently. Even she knew better than to ignore that tone in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“Eloping, obviously,” Geralt replied. He looked straight ahead. Even if he wasn’t embarrassed, there was no reason to maintain eye contact.

Jaskier attempted to contain himself, but a chuckle snuck up on him. "He decided to steal away with me this time, instead of from me. It was a welcomed change of pace," he hummed lazily. "Other than that, he insisted on a ride, and, well, I had very little choice in the matter; one doesn't tend to throw themself off a war horse at a full gallop."

“How do you three keep finding me anyway?” Geralt asked. “I managed to avoid you all perfectly well for three years and now you’re turning up around every corner. Either I’ve gone soft or you’ve gotten better at this.”

Vesemir narrowed his eyes. “You’ve fallen back on old habits. There are only two places to find you at home when you aren’t moping in your room: the stables and the lakeside,” he answered. He pulled ahead and turned in front of them, effectively bringing Roach to a halt. “Now then. Will you two come back to the house? I’m in no mood for these jokes. The wedding’s in one week. Until then, I expect you _both_ to control yourselves. You can go running off _after_ the vows, but not a minute sooner.”

Jaskier held his tongue for a moment, before leaning back against Geralt and murmuring. "I doubt he'll find my plans for tonight amusing either," he teased under his breath, in plain view of the advisor.

Geralt smacked his arm. The very last thing he needed was Vesemir insisting Jaskier stay in his own room. Speaking so brazenly was a good way to make that happen. He cleared his throat, face unbearably hot.

Vesemir looked unamused. He considered them a moment, then started guiding them back toward the house. All he said in regards to Jaskier’s comment was, “Try not to be too loud.” Then he paced ahead of them, to Geralt’s relief and intense mortification.

Jaskier gently pulled on Roach's mane and slowed her so they would fall a few paces behind. "Consider this the start of my retribution. I have three years’ worth of it, and I can't be cold to you, so I will find other ways," Jaskier hummed lazily as he glanced up at Geralt, playfulness clear in his eyes.

“You mean to give me a heart attack,” Geralt mumbled. “You’re a total prick. And you’re playing dirty, using Vesemir against me,” he added.

"Oh, that wasn't even my first move, love," he purred. "I pulled Lambert to my side quite easily, and I assume he'll pull Eskel along with him. I intend to take all the hearts of Eskalott by the first snowfall," he teased.

“If I live that long, I’ll have to get you back,” Geralt replied.

Vesemir turned on the saddle and called back, “Will you two get a move on? I’d like to have a discussion before dinner and at the rate you’re going, we won’t arrive until midnight. Stop your whispering and hurry up!”

Geralt winced. “I wonder what he wants to talk about.” Listening to his tone, he didn’t look forward to finding out.

"I have been riding for weeks, Vesemir; take pity on us," Jaskier called back, currently enjoying poking the bear, but spurring Roach forwards anyways.

“Then a few more minutes won’t kill you. Let’s _go,”_ the old man pushed.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and leaned back into Geralt, letting him take over as they rode back alongside the lake.

The weight of Jaskier against him was a comfort, but Geralt still sat stiff in anticipation. He couldn’t enjoy the lakeside view, worrying as he was about what lay ahead.

“I really hope he doesn’t mean to lock you in the guest room,” he murmured.

"To be fair, he has reason to," Jaskier murmured back as the manor drew into view.

Geralt nodded. He knew.

Eskel was waiting in the rear, Lambert at his side. The moment he saw them riding up with Vesemir, the color returned to his face. Lambert looked less bothered by the whole affair, and he leaned casually against the side of the building.

Vesemir climbed out of the saddle and passed Lambert his reins. “Take them back to the corral,” he said. “We’ll be having a bit of a talk in the study before dinner. Send for us when it’s ready. And this time, try to keep your ears off the door,” he scolded.

Jaskier gracefully moved from Roach's back and snuck her a sugar cube before starting to make his way toward the manor, knowing Geralt would follow close behind. "I have a feeling this has something to do with my parents’ arrival in the next few days."

“You’d be right,” Vesemir replied, stepping through the door.

Geralt turned pale. “Fuck,” he whispered. Now _that_ was something he’d forgotten about entirely. Facing Jaskier was one thing, but he hadn’t done anything to endear himself to them. Hopefully keeping Jaskier close would help with that. They couldn’t order his head chopped clean from his neck if he was resting it lovingly on Jaskier’s shoulder, he hoped.

Jaskier's hand found Geralt's and he squeezed it gently. "You'll be fine. They were more on your side of this than they were mine, and as long as you act lordly, I doubt their opinion will shift much. We have that in our favor at the very least."

Geralt looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Why would they be on _my_ side? You were the one who stayed,” he said. Unless …

He looked at the back of Vesemir’s head. What excuses had he made? The rumors mostly recounted the truth, that he’d run away, but what might Vesemir have said to convince them otherwise?

"Vesemir didn't say anything," Jaskier said with a sigh. "Just the truth, and my parents interpreted it as they saw fit. Lean into it; it will serve you well." His tone was chilled and filtered as it so easily became with stress.

“And what truth was that?” Geralt asked.

Vesemir stopped before the study door and turned to him. “That you’d vanished without explanation,” he answered. And then he ushered them inside. “Sit,” he ordered.

Geralt took a seat in one of the reading chairs and pulled Jaskier onto his lap for security. He wrapped his arms around his waist, needing something to cling to. He’d been expecting this confrontation, but he thought the worst of it had come on board the ship. Back then, he’d had his anger to hide behind. Now, he was vulnerable to his lecturing, and Vesemir had grown only more severe as the wedding drew closer and closer. It had been one of the contributing factors that had put him on edge.

Jaskier didn't object, but he was stiff in his arms. "Did you really expect my family to allow my name to be torn apart unless they thought I was the cause of a failed arrangement?" he said bluntly. "They got the idea themselves, and stuck to it," he explained, even though he hadn't been asked to.

Geralt held him tighter, eyes downcast. “There’s a lot that I never took the time to truly consider,” he whispered.

“Precisely,” Vesemir agreed. “You don’t think things through. And that is why we’re going to have this discussion. You two need a plan, moving forward, if you want any chance of recovery. You’ll be caught in the vultures’ circle, beginning as early as tomorrow.”

"Geralt has one, but I doubt you'll like it, even though it is likely to work," Jaskier offered as he leaned back against his chest. "And it will likely require me to run my mouth."

Vesemir grimaced. “From what Lambert told me during our briefing, you’re very _good_ at that, but a loose tongue can lead to trouble.” He turned to Geralt then, lifting his chin. “Go on then. What is this plan? I’m dubious, but if it has any merit, I’ll be able to point out the flaws and find solutions. If not, we’ll stay in this room until we think of a better one.”

Geralt licked his lips, his throat gone dry. He took a moment, then related the details, now less colorful than their original unfolding.

Vesemir listened stoically, his expression betraying nothing. He did not speak until Geralt finished, then he asked, “What about your name? If you lost all memory, you would not remember it, yet you called yourself Geralt of Rivia while out in the world. And if you were only out for a ride, why would you have taken the swords with you?”

He looked back at Geralt, a very grave look in his eye. “These are details that can’t be overlooked,” he emphasized. “How will you explain them?”

"Drache would have given him the name, thought it a cruel joke. As for the swords, you could always say he wanted to go train alone. Clear his thoughts or settle his nerves?" Jaskier offered, resting his hand over Geralt's as he spoke.

Geralt swallowed, thinking carefully. “I had my signet ring on my finger. My name is etched on the inside of the band. It has the Rivian crest. I could have taken my name from those things as well,” he answered. “Or we might say I had a letter on me at the time from Jaskier—Julian. A _love_ letter; that would garner sympathy. I could extrapolate from the contents.”

Vesemir nodded. “And the swords? Do you have any thoughts?”

“The training is believable. I could also say I was rehearsing for the wedding. The swords came from either side of the family when my parents were wed as a symbol of the strength of their unity. We could argue that I was practicing what I would say when presenting them to the Pankratz family, seeking a quiet place on the property to do so.”

Jaskier nodded a bit. "You'll have to sell it. If you can make a lord's wife cry we'll be in the clear, and our affection for each other will make it more believable," he said with a faint smile. "I would love to see you play a doting, nervous, lover."

“I am, though I’m hardly playing,” Geralt replied. He looked him in the eye and the adoration was clear.

The hard line in Vesemir’s forehead softened. His shoulders, which had been rigid moments before, relaxed. He nodded. “Will any of these things contradict your actions at home, Julian?” he asked. “We have to be absolutely certain. There can be no mistakes.”

"No, I was quieter at home; I don't think they realized much about my feelings on the whole thing," he said with a soft sigh. There was something about the way Vesemir said it that set him on edge, it was too familiar, but he did his best to ignore it.

“We’ll have you write such a letter then. I know ways we can weather it, make it look convincing. It will have to look like something Geralt has carried with him for three years in all circumstances. I’d like you to read it aloud at the reception when telling the story. That will serve to wet more than one pair of dry eyes, I’m sure. It might be the very thing we need to turn the tide.”

Vesemir looked on them kindly at last. He looked a little older, but softer all the same. “This may work,” he said, hope in his voice.

Geralt smiled the first truly unburdened smile in Vesemir’s recent memory. He turned up to look at Jaskier, giving his hand a firm squeeze. “Did you hear that?” he asked. It was high praise.

Jaskier ignored him, and focused on Vesemir. Warmth drained from his expression as their talk had continued on, and he felt his nerves coil ever tighter in his gut. "How long do we have alone?" he asked gently. "I want some time alone with him if I'm going to make this work." That was partially a lie, but they didn't need to know that.

“Visitors,” Vesemir said, “will be arriving soon in anticipation of the wedding. The Duke and Duchess of Lettenhove, most importantly.” He stood with his hands braced behind his back, looking the picture of absolute no-nonsense authority once more. “I want the both of you together at every opportunity, joined at the hip. I want you public, lovesick, and barely contained for as long as possible. You will have tonight and likely until the morning after tomorrow to yourselves before the earliest guests arrive, after which your time alone will be limited to the late evening.”

Jaskier nodded in understanding, glancing back to Geralt for a second before speaking up. "Would you mind if we took our dinner in Geralt's rooms then? I don't want to have to play at my titles in the one night we'll have alone," he said gently, clearly understanding the plan now.

Geralt regarded him with gentle worry and rubbed his thumb comfortingly over his knuckles. He turned back to Vesemir. “I must insist,” he said. “As master of the house. There’s no one here tonight to put on airs for apart from the footmen who will be standing at the tables. Let them have a rest, and let me have one night alone with him as he wishes.”

Vesemir nodded solemnly, but his pleasant change in tone betrayed him. “I’ll see to it,” he assured.

"Thank you," Jaskier said softly, before squeezing his hand. "If there's nothing else, why don't we settle in for the night?" he offered, "I'm still well-worn from travel, and a hot meal and soft bed would be a welcomed sight."

“There’s nothing; you may go.” Vesemir opened the door for them as Geralt stood, taking Jaskier’s hand. He eyed them both as they approached. “A bit of noise would not be amiss,” he said in parting, “but please: keep it tasteful.” He said this last while looking at Jaskier, and scratched the inside of his collar meaningfully, message clear.

Jaskier couldn't help his chuckle as they left. "I told you I wasn't lying, love," he teased, trying to find his footing again as they walked. "Now, why don't you show me to your chambers? I need a bath, and I want one of your shirts."

“Upstairs.”

Geralt flagged down a passing maid and called for another bath. His entire attitude had shifted, and he greeted her politely. She went to her task, obviously mystified at the change, but not without a smile, pleased by it all the same. She would later spread the first news of the lord’s evident affections for the duke when all retired for the evening.

When they arrived in Geralt’s chamber, he closed the door and guided Jaskier to a chair, helping him sit down. He crouched by his side, taking his hands. “You looked stressed before,” he said, voice touched with concern. “Are you alright?”

"I'm not fond of court dealings, and something Vesemir said reminded me a bit too much of home; I'll be fine," he insisted before freeing one of his hands and using it to brush the hair from his lover's eyes. "You'll understand soon enough, I'm good at politics, but I have no fondness for most of it."

Geralt leaned into the touch. “I promise I’ll do my best to support you when we have to deal with them. I’ll learn how to address people properly and open my mouth more to participate in the conversation. I won’t leave you to the wolves again.”

"I know, and I know that was never your intention. You were scared, and grieving, none of it was fair to either of us, but its outcome wasn't your fault," he said gently before running his fingertips along the ribbon Geralt had in his hair.

“Even so, I want to reassure you beyond any doubt. The time is nearing for me to put in the work and reciprocate. I mean to do it all; whatever I can to ease the burden.”

"Then ignore it for the night, have me as you would have in that perfect little loft you had made your home in. Love me without worry," he said softly.

Geralt hummed and crawled up his lap to wrap his arms around his neck. “In that case, I mean to spoil you. You’ve had a long, tiring journey, and you’re guest of honour in my home. It would be _rude_ not to attend to your needs.” He kissed Jaskier’s cheek playfully, making his way to the corner of his mouth. “First, a bath, then once you’re nice and clean, a bite to eat in bed to regain your strength.”

Jaskier couldn't help his grin. He stole a kiss from him as soon as he was within reach, and playfully tugged his hair to pull him back. "Well, then get to spoiling me. A bottle of Toussaint red would help your cause, and in the meantime, I'll prepare for my bath," he teased as he rose to his feet.

“It’s just through that door,” Geralt said, following him with moony eyes.

"I hope you'll join me when it's ready," he purred as he started to undo the laces of his doublet. The collar fell open and started to slide down his shoulder as he made his way to the door. "I'll be waiting."

Geralt was out if the room the minute he was gone from view, having no time to wait for a servant to go and fetch the wine and glasses. It was a mad scramble to the cellar and back, but he was _very_ motivated, heart hammering away in his chest. Jaskier was a tease, but he was beginning to enjoy some of the more pleasant ways his teasing manifested itself.

By the time Geralt returned, he found Jaskier settled on a bench off to the side of the bath room, with nothing but a towel over his lap. He was going through a box of scented oils for the bath, and appeared wholly uninterested as Geralt entered. "Oh, I hadn't expected you to return so quickly; the maids are still filling the tub. I love the way you wear eagerness, it’s endearing."

Geralt turned, face flushing as he acknowledged their small audience. Beside him, a pair of maids were pouring water into the bath, watching him with amusement. He cleared his throat and hid the bottle and glasses behind his back. Then, remembering what Vesemir said, considered otherwise, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to be so obvious. He turned to Jaskier and shuffled nervously over to him, aware of the eyes on them with rigid awkwardness.

“I, uh … I brought this,” he fumbled, raising the bottle. “It’s supposed to be good. My mother was fond of wine and we have a wide selection from their various travels. You specified Toussaint, right?”

Jaskier nodded a bit and motioned for Geralt to sit beside him. "Would you pour me a glass? I'm still trying to decide between these," he hummed dismissively, although the way he just barely hid a grin made it clear that he was playing with him. "I can't decide if bergamot and lavender would go well together or if I should stick to what I usually bathe in."

Geralt’s brow furrowed and he looked between Jaskier and the maids. He pulled the cork with an irritated _pop!_ and poured Jaskier his glass. “Try it. If you don’t like the smell, it’ll be gone soon enough,” he said, voice low as he tried to get a rise out of him, draw his attention once more. "I like _lemon and chamomile_ , but you should enjoy yourself. Indulge in something new." He didn't like the looks the maids were giving Jaskier. He wanted to make it _perfectly_ clear just how familiar he was with Jaskier, down to his bathing habits. It was ridiculous to be jealous, but he had little self-control where he was concerned.

Jaskier drew out the pair of bottles that scented his usual baths. "Seeing as I am your guest, it might be preferable to indulge you," he purred as he set aside the box and took up the wine glass, holding it as daintily as someone might hold a fragile bloom. "Besides, if it rubs off on you, I'd prefer it be something you and I both enjoy," he hummed before taking a lazy drink, and letting a stray drop run along his neck.

Geralt’s eyes followed the drop and he forgot all about the maids for a moment, head empty of all thoughts but chasing it with his tongue. He took a deep, shuddering breath. He really _had_ missed Jaskier. Just this much of a view had him feeling pent up.

“I’d enjoy anything, as long as it’s you,” he said, setting his glass and bottle aside. He rested his hand on Jaskier’s knee, joining him on the bench at his side. His eyes dilated, still trailing after the slowly falling drop of wine against the cord of Jaskier’s pale neck.

Jaskier set the bottles in his lap and used his free hand to pull the ribbon from Geralt's hair. "I've been thinking recently about all the things you said to me before, about gold chains and marks peeking out from my doublet, and I can't help but think that this is my claim on you. It's sweet and delicate, and makes you look tamed, but mostly it’s mine: unmistakably mine," he purred as he let the ribbon slip from his fingers on to Geralt's hand that still settled on his knee. The droplet of wine rested along his collar bone, and Jaskier made no move to wipe it away.

Geralt’s breath came deep as Jaskier’s words enwrapped him like a spell, tugging him forward. The simple touch was magnetic and it pulled him. He’d forgotten the things he’d said in the heat of the moment, and the visual supplied him with a fresh wanting to see them come to light. And the idea of being marked by Jaskier in kind … it sent a thrill through him.

His hand moved higher, acting of its own accord, inching from Jaskier’s knee up his thigh, slowly but surely reaching the edge of the towel. He forgot all else, blind to the rest of the world, deaf to it, numb to all but Jaskier. He licked his lips, inclining his head. He was incapable of looking away from Jaskier’s collar. There rested the wine on untainted skin, all his old marks now healed, save for the slight imprint that marred at the back of his shoulder. The bite remained: a memory of their coupling. He longed to make another.

Jaskier tangled a hand in his hair and kept him from moving any closer. He had heard the door close behind the maids and he rose to his feet, letting the towel and the bottles slip to the ground, leaving him bare. He let go of Geralt's hair and topped off his glass before slipping into the water. "Well? Are you going to join me?" he purred, as if Geralt would dare to refuse him.

Geralt nodded dumbly and grappled with the clasps of his jacket. His hands were trembling. It had been so long since he’d worn so many tight layers. If he were in his normal clothes, he’d simply rip the shirt over his head and have done with it. He felt as if he’d had a full bottle of wine himself, though he hadn’t even had that one taunting drop.

Jaskier smirked and took another lazy sip of his wine, watching him with a fondness he had reserved for moments like this. "Oh, and love? Don't forget the oils," he teased as he leaned back against the wall of the tub.

Geralt finally managed to free himself from the oppressive jacket and threw it aside. He was out of his shirt, trousers, and boots the next moment with greater ease. Snatching up the scent bottles, he stepped into the tub and crowed Jaskier at once. He was already panting from the frustration of trying to get out of the damn jacket.

He reached forward and took Jaskier’s glass, setting it aside. He offered him the bottles. “Here,” he said, voice rough. He wished Jaskier would get on with it and put an end to his waiting. Whatever game he was playing was steadily becoming tiresome. He wanted his full attention and Jaskier seemed completely unaffected.

Jaskier took them one at a time and added a few drops to the bath before handing them back to Geralt and taking another lazy sip of his wine. "Court clothing doesn't suit you," he hummed lazily, running his fingertips along some of the scars on Geralt's chest. "I preferred you in common clothes. Your confidence and comfort seem to go hand in hand."

Geralt’s breath hitched at his touch. He tossed the bottles away, careless of where they might land or even if they’d break. He snatched back the wine glass, swallowing down the remainder and putting it beside the tub, more courteously than he’d done for the scent bottles. They weren’t quite as fragile.

“And I prefer you with your smart mouth put to better use,” he rumbled, bracing his hands against the rim of the tub behind Jaskier’s shoulders.

Jaskier grinned, "Oh, and how would you prefer I use my mouth? I know you like it around your cock, or crying out in pleasure, but I want to know what you've been thinking about these past two months to fill your fantasies while I was absent," he purred.

“You just like to hear me talk about it, don’t you?” Geralt replied. Jaskier had asked it before. He leaned forward at last to lap up the droplet with rapturous enjoyment. He nipped at Jaskier’s collarbone and his hands slipped into the water to wrap Jaskier’s legs around his hips.

“I was too depressed for fantasies on the ship,” he said. “But I can tell you more of what I thought when I saw you prancing around the tavern the night we met.”

“I just like knowing I’m desired,” Jaskier said honestly as he pulled Gerlat in closer and stole a kiss. “But tell me anyways,” he said breathlessly.

Geralt nodded. He stroked an idle hand up and down the length or Jaskier’s thigh as he spoke, his eyes impossibly dark. “That night, you seemed to glow,” he whispered. “I wanted to drag you out into the alley and see whether you still shined in the shadows. I would’ve fucked you then and there, your back pressed against the side of the tavern, trousers halfway down your thighs. I wanted to hear you singing like a whore in the alley, trying to fuck yourself on my cock. The way you looked at me, I knew you liked it rough. I’ve never been so happy to be proven right.”

He smirked, licking at the skin of Jaskier’s neck. “I’d love to try it sometime—the singing. Just you and me one night, out in the woods of some strange country, under solitary the cover of night, no one around for miles. I want you singing with that lovely voice of yours while I thrust you from behind. Every time a cry interrupts the melody, I’d have you start over from the beginning, and I wouldn’t allow you to finish until the song was sung in full, no matter how long it took, no matter how much you begged.”

Jaskier blushed and tangled a hand in his hair. "You're filthy," he said breathlessly, trying to find words to regain the high ground, but failing for a moment. It took quite a lot to make Jaskier go as red as he had in that moment. He could imagine it, Geralt's hand at his hip and one in his hair, tipping his head back as he tried to sing out an overly complex melody, only to choke on his own moan and breathlessly start again. It was thrilling.

Geralt chuckled. He’d only begun. “I want to see you tied up again; you were right to tease.” He took Jaskier’s hands and pulled them up behind his head, trapping them on the edge of the tub. There was a hunger in his eyes as if he meant to devour him then and there, but he went on describing for him. That was Jaskier’s wish.

“I want to see you straining, arcing for my touch. You beg so prettily, even when you tease. I want you to dress yourself for me in all those fine silks you spoke of so that I can strip you of them, leaving bruising kisses in my wake. There’s something about you that compels me to mark and possess. And I _want_ your teasing in kind.”

Geralt released Jaskier’s hands and leaned back on the other end of the tub, pulling Jaskier onto his chest. He guided Jaskier’s hands to his own wrists and allowed himself to be pinned in place. He arched his neck, closing his eyes a moment as the fantasy washed over him. “I want to be held down and made to plead as well,” he panted. “I want you to own me and my pleasure. I want to fulfill your fantasies. Pull my hair, guide me, call me a thousand things that would make a fishmonger blush, then tell me I’ve done well. Employ me, then let me worship at your altar.” He opened his eyes to look at him, cheeks flushed with a red that reached down his neck, his chest, and disappeared beneath the water. “I think I must dream up a new fantasy every time I look at you. You do so inspire.”

"Oh, the praises I'd heap on to you, I'd love to test each and every one, see how they made you react. I'd love to see you on your knees before me on a throne," he purred in his ear as he held his wrists tighter and kissed along his neck. "I'd make you beg, I'd make you attend to my every desire, and if you were lucky I'd let you get off." He straddled his thighs and nipped at Geralt's collar.

"Fuck, I can just imagine you, dressed in silks, and my livery, being mine, and knowing how to show me your devotion. You're already beautiful, perfect in every way, and having you all to myself is a reward most would only dare to dream up." Jaskier rocked his hips slightly and pressed against his thigh. "Oh, but to see you restrained, only to break from your bonds, pin me down and fuck me until I could hardly breathe, as if to show that your submission was a gift to me, given and taken away as you liked.

"I want your worship, but I want to know exactly who kneels before me," he purred before pulling Geralt's hands to rest at his waist, and guiding them down to his inner thigh.

Geralt rolled his head back with a moan. _“Yes,”_ he breathed. He wanted it. He wanted it all so badly, that very moment. His heart raced as Jaskier guided him. There was a desire to ask, to please, Jaskier’s pleasure his own greatest want.

He could feel the pressure of Jaskier’s cock against his leg. He reached for it, chest rising and falling, stirring the water around them. “May I?” he pleaded.

"I'm tempted to make you wait," he purred, resting his head against his shoulder as he spoke. "Besides, we were supposed to be getting clean, or have I made you forget all about that?"

Geralt whined. It was exactly what he’d asked for, and it sent a shiver down his back, but he’d been waiting plenty. “How long will you make me wait?” he asked. He groped at Jaskier’s hips once more, denied the other touch he craved.

"Until we finish dinner, and by then I plan to have you far too frustrated to be gentle. I want you to make me scream," he purred before slipping from his lap to step out of the tub and refill his glass, half with wine, and partially diluted with water from a pitcher nearby. He sunk back into the water with his glass in hand and rested his arms on the edge of the bath. "Touch yourself for me?"

Geralt watched the way Jaskier settled himself with his drink as if he were sitting down to a show at a banquet. And _he_ would have the privilege of being that show, he realized. He wet his lips and leaned back against the rim of the tub, his cock giving an inviting twitch at the suggestion. He palmed it and hissed at the touch. He really was more pent up than he’d thought.

He gave himself a firm stroke just to relieve some of the ache, his eyes shutting tight. Then he looked back at Jaskier, expression one of strained patience. “How … how should I do it?” he asked, looking for instruction. What did Jaskier want of him? What could he provide?

"Slowly, show restraint, show how good you can be for me," he purred as he watched him. Control looked good on him. He wasn't cruel, just confident, his tone not leaving room to refuse. "And don't let yourself finish until I tell you to."

Geralt nodded, then closed his eyes and let his head rest on the edge of the tub. He gave himself another long stroke, chest heaving as he drew breath. The sound of Jaskier’s voice, seductive, commanding—it was a gift. He slipped into another fantasy: one tamer than the others. He simply imagined Jaskier’s hand on his, helping him work himself off.

As he listened to Jaskier sip his wine, Geralt bit his lip and his hips gave an involuntary thrust upward into his fist. This was something new. He’d never simply been watched before, except for that first night, though it had been much different. Then, he'd been in control. He didn’t know how he looked. Briefly he wondered if he ought to practice for the future, sitting in front of a mirror, trying to get the best angle right for Jaskier.

"I wish you could see yourself," Jaskier purred after a long while of just indulging in the scene. "The crease of your brow, and the way you try to keep yourself in line. It's intoxicating.

"Look at me, I want to see your eyes," he purred as he finished his glass.

Geralt turned his head back towards him, struggling to keep his eyes open. He hadn’t touched himself since the last time they had been together. It had been too long. The water’s surface rippled and waved gently as he tried to maintain a slow pace. Jaskier wanted him slow. He tried to steady himself by gripping the side of the tub, wet fingers struggling to hold tight against the slick porcelain.

"Tell me when you get close," he hummed as he moved to his side to watch. He pressed against him and kissed along his neck lazily, never letting his attention stray far from his lover's reactions.

Geralt gasped and turned his head, giving Jaskier better access. He lost himself for a moment, water sloshing as he stroked himself faster, but he remembered himself and slowed again, choking back another whine. The feeling of Jaskier on his neck was a welcomed trade. He lowered his arm from the rim of the tub, tentatively settling it on Jaskier’s shoulders.

Jaskier leaned closer to him and let his hand trail up Geralt's thigh, before running his thumb along the head of his cock. "Slowly now, you've been so good for me thus far," he purred before kissing up his neck and nipping just under his jaw.

That small touch sent electricity though him. “J—Julian … ?” There was a pleading in the word. Already he was starved for the touch to return. It had been naught but a light ghosting and it left him wanting so much more. He closed his eyes, panting harder as he did his best to obey. He squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder, trying to ground himself as he bucked into his hand again.

Jaskier blushed faintly at that, and continued his teasing. "Yes, love?" he hummed, as if he wasn't slowly taking his lover apart. He rested his hand over Geralt's wrist and slowed his movements further.

Geralt groaned. He tucked his face against Jaskier’s neck, reveling in the feeling of his hand on him, even this way. He let him set the pace, panting hot, damp breath against his skin. “Nearly,” he said, lips brushing against his neck as he spoke. Geralt tried in vain to press a kiss to the spot, but he was too busy concentrating to make a solid effort, despite his need.

Jaskier gently pushed Geralt's hand away and moved to whisper in her ear. "Stop," he hummed before moving to his feet and stepping from the tub once more. He picked his towel up from the ground and briskly dried himself, before pulling on Geralt's undershirt. "Oh, and love? Why don't you call for dinner?"

All he could do was blink. “What?” he asked. It had all been too quick. One moment, Jaskier was by his side, whispering in his ear, and the next he was standing there, dressing, leaving Geralt torturously hard in the cooling water.

"I'll be waiting," he purred lazily, before stepping back out into Geralt's quarters.

Jaskier disappeared and Geralt slipped back against the tub with a pained cry. He thought how easy it would be to simply finish himself while Jaskier was out of the room, but it wouldn’t be as satisfying, and he knew there would be some retribution to follow. The thought wasn’t helpful, sending yet another wave of lust through him at the possibilities.

To prevent himself from making a mistake he couldn’t take back—no matter how tempting—he resigned himself to stepping out of the tub. He dried and wrapped the towel around his waist. Before returning to his rooms, he rang a bell to signal the maids that their business in the bath was done. Dinner would follow shortly afterwards, as instructed. Geralt decided to make Jaskier do a little waiting himself for leaving him the way he did, and he took the time to fold their clothes and straighten up the mess, returning the scent bottles to their box. Lastly, he picked up the bottle and glasses of wine and carried them back to the door. Once in his room, he set them on the bedside table. “Should I bother getting dressed?” he asked.

"Hmm, well that depends on what you plan to do after dinner," he hummed from his place in the bed. He had sprawled out against the over-fluffed pillows. He was a sight to behold, pale skin, flushed from the heat of the bath, only marred by the bite that lingered on his shoulder, stood out on the deep maroon of Geralt's sheets.

The sight made Geralt’s breath catch. Yes, he’d expected to have Jaskier in his bed that night, had thought about it since their kiss in the study, but somehow the reality of the image had never processed, existing in the hypothetical. And Jaskier, damn him, had the audacity to pose. Geralt bit his lip and fisted both hands in the towel, knowing he was being teased once more.

“You’re a brat,” he mumbled under his breath.

"You're well aware of that," he purred, looking up at him with a smirk. "The question is, how will you get me to behave?" He quirked a brow as he spoke. It was a challenge, that much was clear, he wanted to push Geralt, and he had set himself up to put him perfectly on edge.

Geralt’s knuckles cracked from the effort to keep himself under control. He closed his eyes, taking several deep breaths. There were two equally satisfying ways to go about this. One, he could give into the temptation now and show Jaskier exactly how he meant to make him behave. But he’d already shown little restraint the first time they fucked, and let their meal grow cold. Jaskier wanted to push him, see where his limits lie. The second option would draw this little game out longer, but he was sure the reward would be worth it. Besides, as much as he was dying to partake, there were other ways to put brats in their place.

So Geralt strode over to the wardrobe, a purposeful sway in his hips. “Come help me pick something out to wear,” he said, though he could not hide the rough quality to his voice. “I can’t answer the door naked when our dinner comes.”

"Hmm, I want you in blue," Jaskier purred as he walked over to him. He wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned against his back as he spoke. "Light blue if you have it, I'd love to see your attempt at looking delicate," he teased, fully aware that Geralt's shirt just slipped past the top of his thighs.

Geralt straightened up, skin burning at Jaskier’s touch. He was very aware of what he was trying to do. He coughed, then opened the wardrobe doors, trying to remain impassive despite the rise of his towel. “I think I might have something in here. I’ll have to take a look.”

“Hmm, do you still need my help or can I return to my lounging?” he teased lazily as he stepped away. “I hope you can dress yourself, I doubt lordliness has affected you that quickly.

Geralt huffed. Then, he had a very fine idea, and turned, hooking a finger under Jaskier’s chin. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I put on a little show?” he suggested, regaining a modicum of control. The look on Jaskier’s face … it would be something to enjoy.

Jaskier met his eyes and nodded slightly. “You know I love to watch you,” he teased before going off to relax on Geralt’s bed, his eyes never leaving his frame as he settled in.

Geralt let the towel drop so Jaskier might see him in all his glory. Then, he turned and rummaged through the wardrobe before he found what he was looking for. It wasn’t the lightest blue, but it was Jaskier’s color: a fine cut jacket with front laces. He fetched the matching trousers, a set of his nicest smalls, and carried the lot of it to a chair where Jaskier might have a perfect view. Then, slowly, he dressed himself one piece at a time—a reverse strip show.

He started with the shirt, one of his legs posed on the chair to show him at advantage. The ties he left loose until he slipped on the jacket, one arm at a time, smoothing the sleeves and adjusting the ends with an indifference it was obvious he did not feel. He shuddered under Jaskier’s watchful eyes and found that he enjoyed being watched so carefully.

“Hmm, I’m almost tempted to wrap that ribbon around your throat and tie it there instead of in the braid. I imagine if I pulled at it you would follow,” he purred as he watched him. He let his own hand trace along the edges of his shirt for a moment before spreading his legs slightly and running his hands from his hip to his thighs, teasing himself the same way he’d allowed Geralt to.

Geralt had frozen at the suggestion, felt the blood run through him. He almost dropped his smalls, tempted. Maybe he’d let Jaskier try it, just a small treat for good behaviour once he’d finished dressing. And he might treat himself as well, watching Jaskier tease along his legs. He wanted to tell him to stop, to wait and let him do the honour, but he was not done with the task he set himself. Later, he promised, steeling himself. Oh, it would be so sweet.

He lowered his foot and bent himself lower than necessary to step into his smallclothes, then stopped. He kicked them off, having thought of a much better position. He lay on the ground and brought his knees up to his chest to slide the smalls over his legs, stretching as he did. He braced his torso with his shoulders to the rug, arching upwards, face contorted with the knowledge of how it must appear. He did the same with his trousers, nearly writhing as the slip of the fabric brushed against his erection. He stood and tucked in his shirt, giving himself a firm rub, hidden behind the thin excuse of dressing. He was already hot from the bath, and a thin sweat formed on his back. Geralt wanted nothing more than to strip himself free of the unbearably warm clothing, but instead, he laced his front and fetched the boots, stroking his calve as he tucked the trousers in.

Jaskier watched him closely and pushed his shirt up slightly to run his thumb over his chest. There was something oddly commanding about Geralt being well dressed and himself being mostly bare, with the exception of the shirt that now rested at his ribs, hiding nothing from view. He felt small, but in the best way. “Where will we take dinner?” Jaskier asked and his voice wavered slightly. “I’m rather comfortable in your bed.”

“Bed sounds fine to me. Just don’t make a mess,” Geralt said. He reached up to braid his hair again and add the final touch. It occurred to him then that he hadn’t seen the ribbon when he’d been collecting their clothes. He looked around, suddenly startled. “Oh, fuck—Jaskier, have you seen my ribbon?” he asked, turning to give the room a good look.

Jaskier untucked a small well-hidden braid in his hair from behind his ear to reveal the ribbon tied at the end. “You should be more watchful of your gifts,” he teased.

He had managed to find time to tie it when Geralt was rooting through his clothes, and he figured he should see how it looked on its original owner.

It looked good. A bit odd, considering the length of Jaskier’s hair, but the man could find a way to make being covered in horseshit look good with the right attitude. And he had plenty to spare.

“You were the one who took it out,” Geralt replied, creeping closer. “It entrusted it to you implicitly.”

“And yet you didn’t stop to look for it as we left the bath,” he hummed as he watched him step closer. His heart fluttered in his chest from the anticipation.

Geralt leaned down at the foot of the bed, hands braced on the soft sheets. “I was distracted.” The scare had cleared his head somewhat, and now he was feeling cocky. He put one knee on the bed, then reach a hand forward. Slowly, he climbed up, looming over Jaskier with renewed confidence, a devilish smirk on his lips.

Jaskier grinned back at him and ran his fingers through the loose braid, and let it come undone. “I’m more than happy to distract you again.” He set his hand on Geralt's chest and pushed him back slightly. “After dinner.”

Geralt pushed back, keeping his place. He stared boldly down at Jaskier. “Put it back,” he said in his most commanding voice.

“Make me,” Jaskier purred back with a smirk, knowing he’d at least won one of the games he was playing.

The heat coiled in his stomach once more, looking at his defiant little face. Geralt gripped Jaskier’s chin, forcing his head up. He got in his space further, let Jaskier feel the weight of him above. “Put. It. Back.”

Jaskier stuck his tongue out at him. If he wanted this, he would have to do more than attempt to intimidate him.

That’s when Geralt decided enough was enough. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and grabbed Jaskier, hauling him over onto his lap face down. He pinned him with one arm to his shoulders, making sure his legs were wide enough to support him without letting him buckle, and placed a hand on the back of Jaskier’s thighs.

“I’ll ask you once more,” he warned. “Will you put it back?”

Jaskier grabbed a hold of his unblemished trousers to steady himself. “You know my answer,” he purred as he wiggled his hips in an attempt to break from him.

Geralt gave him a firm swat with his right hand, grateful Jaskier was facing down and could not see the redness rising up again in his cheeks.

Jaskier gasped sharply and held his thigh tighter as he settled into the feeling. “Fuck,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

To soothe the sting, Geralt rubbed the spot gently. “Feel like behaving yourself yet?” he asked.

“No,” he mumbled softly, biting his lip. It was the anticipation more than strike that had him on edge.

Geralt honestly was not expecting to have to do it more than once. It had been a spur of the moment decision. Now, he felt awkward, despite being in arguably the least awkward of the two positions. He flushed redder, more self-aware than before.

“ … Are you _sure?”_ he asked, now very conscious of his hands.

Jaskier paused for a moment and glanced up at Geralt. “Are you?” he asked sincerely, he didn’t want to push Geralt if he wasn’t comfortable. He would never do that to him.

Geralt considered a moment, raised his hand again, then put it down with a sigh. “I’m all bark, no bite,” he said. Then he fumbled to correct himself, “I mean to say—that is—I can bite, but this is a little … I feel like I’m just hitting you. Doesn’t it hurt?”

Jaskier looked up and smiled at him slightly. “Not really. It stings for a moment and then it dulls; I like it,” he admitted as a blush rose to his cheeks. “But I don’t want you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

Geralt cleared his throat. “It isn’t that,” he replied. It was only that he was trying something new. “Let me try it again.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and settled back over his legs. He held onto his thigh to keep himself from moving too much, and waited.

Geralt steadied himself a moment, then he brought his hand down again, though this time it was with distinctly less force, still a bit too nervous to put much power behind it.

Jaskier jumped slightly and made a soft sound as it landed. It wasn’t pained, just a little surprised. He tried not to move too much, but he did hold Geralt a little tighter.

“I’m not going to break, Geralt, you don’t need to hold back,” he teased, barely stifling a chuckle. “You were rougher with me on our ride than you are now. Just don’t think so hard about it.”

“I’m _trying.”_ Geralt gave him another half-hearted smack, almost as hard as the first, but not quite. “It’s more difficult to do than you think.”

“I swear to the gods Geralt, I didn’t spend twenty minutes working you up for you to worry about hurting me,” he said, rolling his eyes and glancing up at him. “You drew blood on our first night together, just fucking spank me.” There wasn’t any anger in it—not really. Truth be told, Jaskier seemed to be on the verge of laughter.

“Well I can’t _do it_ when you’re all sweet and concerned!” Geralt argued, throwing his arms up in the air. He hid his face in his hands. “And stop laughing, I can see that stupid smile on your face!”

“Excuse me for not wanting to overstep your boundaries,” Jaskier shot back, although by now he was laughing. “You’re being cute, I can’t help it.”

“Shut up! You’re just making things worse!" Geralt grumbled. He bounced his knees to shake him up a bit, as if it helped any.

Jaskier slipped from his knees to the floor and by then he was truly laughing. “Geralt, some days I swear you’re more blushing maid than a lord.”

“Fine! If you want it so bad, I’ll give it to you! Get your ass back up here, you bratty little son of a—!”

The knock on the door startled Geralt, and he actually yelped aloud.

Jaskier pulled himself together enough to speak up again. “Love, why don’t you go get the door. I’m in no state to be seen,” he teased, laughter just hiding in his tone.

Geralt gaped at him, but the knock came again. He stood and walked to the door, deep red, as if he’d just stepped out of a boiling tub. When he opened the door, a pink-eared servant greeted him with a cart.

“Your … I’ve brought your dinner, my lord,” he said, making no eye contact.

Geralt was in a similar state. He cleared his throat and took the cart by the edge. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here. You can just leave it with us until the morning,” he said.

The servant bowed and Geralt shut the door in his face before he even had time to rise up.

Geralt locked the door. He stood stiff in place a moment, then he turned so his back was against the door and slid down, burying his face in mortification. “Dear gods above, he fucking _heard_ that,” he moaned.

“I was expecting Vesemir to have mercy on your household and send up Eskel or Lambert, but that man is truly ruthless,” Jaskier said with a chuckle as he walked over to the cart and picked up a roll. “Oh, and I fully intend to be a brat tonight, as you so eloquently pointed out. It’s rather entertaining,” he teased before moving to sit at Geralt’s side.

“Sending the staff _was_ merciful,” Geralt assured him. “To me, at least. If it had been either one of them, I’d be throwing myself out the window as we speak and running off again—and this time, nobody would find me. I like your teasing, but nothing in the world would convince me to stay if _that_ had been the case. I’d find a way to hide on the _moon.”_

Jaskier was laughing again. “They’ve already seen worse,” he reminded him. “Besides, I think he did that on purpose. If there are rumors among the servants it makes all of this believable.”

Geralt reemerged, an incredulous look on his face. “You _understand_ how that’s _worse_ , don’t you? He’s sending the staff to listen in on us having sex! I don’t want the entire household, and by eventual extension, the entire _peerage_ in my bedroom,” he said.

“As if it wasn’t perfectly clear what we were doing when the maids were filling the bath. You can’t hide things from your household, they’ll find out eventually, and they already have full access to your rooms. Manors aren’t private,” he teased.

“Everyone knows we’re having sex, fine—but I don’t need them to hear me shouting about giving you a spanking. If they heard every little thing I said in the heat of the moment, I wouldn’t be able to look any of them in the eye. And when we’re in the moment, I don’t think about the rest. It’s when the moment passes that I become aware.”

It was then that Geralt also became distinctly aware that they were having this conversation, Jaskier entirely nude.

Well, mostly nude. Geralt’s shirt still settled on his shoulders but the hem now rested at his waist, effectively only covering his chest while he ate his roll. Jaskier glanced up at him while he ate and raised a brow. “I understand your want for privacy, but we’ll find it when we travel after the wedding. Households are about as private as a theatre, but my family’s hunting lodge should suit us well.”

Geralt sighed and leaned his head back against the door. “Thank you,” he said. “You’ve been very patient with me. It’ll be much easier when I can be awkward without an audience.”

“I’ve had quite a bit of practice when it comes to patience,” he teased lazily. “And I think it’s sweet. You only seem to stumble after successes.”

Geralt gave him a dubious look. “And what,” he asked, “in all of that was a success?”

“The fact that you put me over your knees at all. That was quite the success,” he teased.

“I have a feeling that your mischievous streak will land you there quite regularly in the future. You cat.” Geralt had gotten over his embarrassment then. The teasing had been a help. He stood up and offered Jaskier a hand before pushing the cart up to the bed. He pulled off his boots and settled himself down on top of the covers, patting the spot beside him.

“Come on, then. Let’s have a bite and get back to it.” There was a joking quality to his tone, as if they were doing a job left half done and Vesemir would return at an appointed time to check their progress.

Jaskier chuckled softly and sat beside him. “I was hoping you might keep those on, but I guess that idea will have to wait for another day,” He teased before picking up a plate and eating a bit.

Geralt, who was helping himself to his own plate, stopped to regard him a moment. “What kind of idea?” he asked. He tried to think of what could be sexy about a boot.

“Mostly I was thinking about it being on my chest, keeping me pinned, but I didn’t let my thoughts wander far enough past that to think of much more concerning them,” he hummed lazily.

Geralt picked at his food. He crossed one ankle over the other, then glanced at Jaskier out of the corner of his eye. “You should let them wander a bit further,” he suggested quietly, chasing a sprout around his plate.

“Hmm, straining against elegant silks contrasted by the press of leather to skin. Maybe we’d be settled on furs by the fire,” he thought aloud. “Firelight in your eyes as you take your time to tease, pressing me back down into our bedding when I got too eager. Hmm, I may have to share my runaway thoughts more often.”

Geralt’s hands had stilled as he listened, and the heat that had faded over time was slowly returning, as evidenced by the bulge in his trousers. “I agree,” he said, setting his plate aside, barely touched. “You paint a tempting picture.”

“I’m a storyteller by trade, I tend to be good at saying tempting things,” he hummed before eating a bit more and setting aside his plate as well.

Geralt slipped off the bed.

As Jaskier watched, he strode over to the fireplace and took his flints from the tinderbox on the mantle. It took little effort to get the fire going. Then, he went around the room, snuffing the oil lamps until all was bathed in a rosy glow. He turned over his shoulder and winked at Jaskier, opening a large chest at the foot of the bed. From it he withdrew several furs from their winter storage and spread them out before the hearth.

He turned back to Jaskier and sat on the edge of the bed. The next moment, he was tugging on his boots, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m good at making things happen,” he teased.

Jaskier blushed faintly at that, and guided Geralt into a brief kiss. He pulled away after a moment and grinned at him playfully. “We seem to make a habit of letting our meals go cold,” he teased, before moving into his lap.

“We seem to have the wrong kind of appetite necessary for food,” Geralt retorted. He put his arms around Jaskier’s waist to steady him. “Now, what shall we do for silk? I’d be more than willing to sacrifice one of my old shirts to cut up for some ties.”

“Sadly I think that might be our only choice, unless there’s a spare set of sheets for us to use; the length would make for more elegant ties,” he hummed.

Geralt raised a brow, then lifted Jaskier to his feet. He watched his reaction over his shoulder as he pulled back the bedclothes to the bottommost layers. There, he found the red silk and gave it a violent tug free. He took an unsoiled knife from the cart and stabbed it into one end of the sheet, then put the knife back. Taking the cloth between his hands, he ripped it, taking several motions to reach the very end. He flung the strip over Jaskier and pulled it taught so that Jaskier was pressed against his front. “Will this do?” he asked, giving him a teasing rut.

Jaskier was as red as the silk sheet by then, and he drew Geralt into a kiss as soon as he was pulled close to him. “It will do perfectly,” he purred as he pulled away and met Geralt’s eyes. His own were dark and need was more than clear in them.

“Someone’s a tad eager,” Geralt chuckled. “I thought you enjoyed prolonged anticipation. All at once, you’re acting needy.”

“Don’t act surprised, you’re the one indulging me,” he huffed. “And I never said anything about this being quick.”

“Bossy too. Would it please Your Grace to kneel so that I might bind your wrists?” he teased in his courtly voice. “Or would you rather remember who you wanted in charge?” he asked, voice taking on a darker tone.

“Remind me, my lord—remind me of exactly who I entrusted myself to,” he purred.

Geralt placed his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders. He pushed so that Jaskier knelt in front of him. “Isn’t that a pretty picture,” he hummed. But it was one for another time. Geralt circled Jaskier slowly, the end of the silk tie trailing after him. Then, Geralt’s breath was hot on his ear. “Put your wrists together,” he ordered.

He did as he was told, the time to play and tease would come later; he would be obedient until Geralt finished tying him. After that, well, he would have to see.

Geralt slipped the silk over his wrists, wrapping it around a few times before knotting. Then, he took one of Jaskier’s ankles and pulled it to meet the other. With the long end remaining, he wrapped his ankles up and finished the rope. “Is it too tight?” he asked, running a finger between the bonds.

“No, it’s comfortable,” he assured him. “Although I’m not sure how you intend to get this shirt off me now,” he teased lazily.

Geralt smirked. “You’ll find out,” he promised. He stood and walked round again to Jaskier’s front to admire his work with ravenous eyes. He licked his lips and said, “You really do look nice, all tied up. But I think there’s something missing.”

He tore another strip from the sheet and ripped a small section from it, returning behind Jaskier. He slipped the cloth over his eyes and tied it in back. “There,” he whispered. “How does that feel, love?”

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, and a blush rose to his cheeks again. Anticipation and imagination worked in tandem now as he lost sight of Geralt. “I like it,” he said warmly.

“I thought you might. I noticed you like being surprised. You like not knowing what’s coming.”

Geralt stood, letting his boots clomp on the wood floor so that Jaskier might hear exactly where he walked. He stopped in front of him. Then, Geralt’s hands were on either side of his shirt collar. He gave the shirt a fierce tug, ripping the front apart to expose Jaskier’s chest.

Jaskier gasped sharply and shuddered as he felt the torn edges of the fabric run along his chest. He bit his lip and attempted to look up at Geralt although he wasn’t sure if he was looking at the right place. “Well, it looks like a shirt was going to be lost no matter what...” he teased.

“It was for a good cause,” Geralt said, suddenly at his ear. He kissed along Jaskier’s jaw, nipping at the shell of his ear. “I think I found my new favorite look for you. And you’re only going to look better once I’ve had my fill. I like seeing you a mess; you’re usually so put together.”

“Fuck, you can’t just say things like that,” Jaskier said softly, tilting his head to the side for him. “You’re going to have me begging.”

Geralt chuckled, fingers ghosting up the side of Jaskier’s leg. “Maybe that’s what I want,” he whispered. Then, he pulled away and the air was filled with a quiet rustle somewhere behind Jaskier. Geralt’s footsteps made no noise when he moved: his experience as a bounty hunter shining through. Then, in a moment, there was silence.

Jaskier strained against the silks for a moment, and tried to listen for where Geralt stood in the room. He bit his lip and tried to concentrate.

The sole of Geralt’s boot pressed down on his chest then, forcing him back on a freshly made pile of pillows and furs. “Down, my love,” Geralt said above him.

Jaskier fell back against the furs and didn’t fight it. He liked this side of Geralt, it pulled something from him. “You’re so quiet,” he murmured.

"Years of practice sneaking up on my quarry. There's a reason I took to hunting at night," he replied, his voice a teasing rumble. "It's night now. Time for my best work."

Geralt knelt down at Jaskier's side, placing a hand on his knee. As he spoke, he stroked his hand up his leg, his hip, his side, whispering close beside him. "I thought of hunting _you_ once in the hardest times. I thought if you were gone, my troubles would be ended, but I didn't like the idea of harming an innocent, no matter how much they got in my way. But looking at you now, I'm starting to rethink my position."

Jaskier shuddered slightly and strained against the silks as he tried to press into his touch. “Concerning my innocence, or are you deciding to hunt me?” he teased breathlessly. His thoughts were running wild at the moment, his focus split between his touch, and racing through the woods alongside the lake. Hearing Geralt and Roach streaming after him, or just Geralt on foot. There was a thrill to it, especially with the change in context.

Geralt chuckled. "Tonight I've already caught you," he replied.

Geralt's hands slipped through the opening of Jaskier's sleeves, sliding the shirt off his shoulders to hang limp around him. He leaned low next to Jaskier to kiss his shoulder. Whenever he pulled away, he would wait before appearing somewhere else entirely, keeping Jaskier guessing at his next touch. Some were feather light: a scratch of nails against his arm, and some were sudden, sharp: a pinch to one nipple, a bite pressed to his inner thigh.

Jaskier whined softly after a bit and pressed his thighs together to try and get something more than Geralt’s touch. He was breathless and flushed, desperate.

“Geralt please,” he whined softly, trying to look at Geralt.

Geralt's pulse raced. He really _did_ beg prettily. "Ask me again," he said his voice deceptively indifferent. "Ask me so prettily, Jaskier."

Jaskier bit his lip for a moment, and strained against the silk, before speaking up again. “Geralt please, I want you—I _need_ you, I can hardly breathe let alone think about anything but you,” he begged.

"Good." He backed away once more, moving silently through the room. Then, without warning, he hauled Jaskier up by his bonds. He sat in Jaskier's place, pulling him between his legs, back to Geralt's chest. Geralt rested his hands on Jaskier's thighs and panted against his ear. "Breathing yet?" he teased.

He leaned back against him and shook his head slightly. “No, but it seems like I stole yours as well,” he teased breathlessly reveling in the feeling of his bare shoulders against Geralt’s clothed chest, the contrast making a perfect picture in his thoughts.

It was true. But then, it had always been true. Geralt smiled, tapping a finger on the edge of the blindfold in thought. "How else might I steal your breath again?" he wondered. He lowered the hand once more, teasing down his chest, until it stopped, knuckles grazing against Jaskier's erection.

Jaskier gasped softly and rocked his hips forwards. “You act like there aren’t a thousand different ways to have me breathless,” he murmured.

"You act like you've got the time to try them," Geralt teased back. "If you could see what I see, you'd know better. You're a sight; flushed and wanting, leaking like a virgin whore on a king's commission. I don't think you'll last for long on this round, but I intend to try. Let me know when it becomes too much. "

“Maybe I will have time, but to me it sounds like you want to take revenge,” he taunted, although the way Jaskier’s blush had travelled along his neck dulled the words. “I have a feeling you’ll try to leave me wanting, on edge. The same way I left you. You were such a sight, if I look half as desperate I’m surprised you haven’t fucked me yet,” he teased lazily, before glancing up at him with a smirk. “Actually, I’m more surprised that this blindfold has yet to become a gag. I’ve been told I have quite the tongue.”

Jaskier could tell the effect his words had on Geralt by the way his chest rose and fell heavier against his back. Geralt leaned his head forward on Jaskier’s, breathing hard. The idea of gagging Jaskier had its appeal: the noises he’d make would be fantastic, and the muffled words would make it easier for him to work. But he shook his head.

“No gag,” Geralt panted, raising his hips forward to grind against Jaskier’s bottom. “I like to hear you talk—the things you say…”

He slipped his hand between Jaskier’s legs and gave him a firm rub to let him know _exactly_ how much he was appreciated.

Jaskier gasped sharply and let his head fall forwards. He may have snipped back at Geralt’s comments earlier, but now it was clear Geralt read him like a book.

“Oh? You like the way I tease you?” he hummed, although he sounded rough. “You like hearing every comment, every praise or jab I throw your way?”

Geralt raked his teeth against Jaskier’s neck and gave his erection another firm stroke. “I do. You have a way with words, and your voice does things to me.” Geralt remembered their earlier discussion, his fantasy of Jaskier singing. That had not come from nothing. He gripped Jaskier’s hip and ground up against him again, straining in his trousers, seeking contact. “Keep talking to me,” he begged. “Let me hear you.”

Jaskier was breathless and panting softly but he found words. “Fuck, Geralt, I wish I could see you. I can imagine it, the focus in your eyes, the determination to hold back just for a moment longer, to watch me break down, to be as desperate as you feel. Fuck, you must look like such a noble, commanding and unrelenting; I want you to take me apart,” he rambled on as he chased after his touch.

Geralt laughed quietly. “Noble?” he echoed. “Is that how you’d like to see me? Dressed up in a jacquard vest and brocade? Draped in silk and velvet, so tame, reserved? I would have thought you’d like me better hair loose and wild-eyed, looking like the White Wolf, my clothes in tatters, barely clinging to my sweat-slick skin. I know you like me roughed up. Or is that precisely why you’d dress me so fine, knowing what I’m _really_ like: a secret known only to you?”

His hand moved faster and Geralt raised Jaskier’s knee, spreading his legs wider to let him feel the strain. He groped at his skin, nails digging in possessively as he lathed Jaskier’s neck with his tongue. He growled, giving him a quick bite.

Jaskier cried out sharply and leaned against the silks. “Maybe I want both? I just want my wolf to be mine, whether he be tamed or wild,” he said breathlessly as he pressed back against him.

Geralt removed his left hand from Jaskier’s hip. With it, he reached around, playing with the cord at Jaskier’s neck that held the signet ring. With his other, he removed Jaskier’s blindfold and cast it aside. Both of their rings shone in the fire’s glow, gleaming back at him pale gold. “What do you think this means, Jaskier?” he asked. His voice took on another tone, one more tender, and he brought the ring back to lay a gentle kiss against it.

“I knew you were mine during our first night together in Novigrad,” he said softly as he took the moment to ground himself. “My sweet, loyal wolf.”

“My songbird,” Geralt sighed. Jaskier’s words were music. He shifted so he might turn Jaskier’s head and pull him into a kiss without strain.

Jaskier leaned up to kiss him, reveling in the tender exchange. The flames seemed to dance for them in the fire place, threading gold light through the moment. But the fire couldn’t compare to the warmth in Jaskier’s eyes.

Geralt turned Jaskier so he sat on his lap, knees on either side of his legs. As the kiss went on, it became more charged. Geralt licked and nipped at Jaskier’s bottom lip, breath catching. He clung to Jaskier and bucked his hips upward, himself growing impatient.

Jaskier pulled away and caught his breath for a moment. “Geralt, please just fuck me,” he begged as he tried to rock his hips against his.

Geralt gripped his hips for purchase, rocking back, equally as desperate. “Do you want me to take you with or without the ties?” he asked, voice gravelly with strain. “What do you want? Anything you want, you can have; this one’s for you. Your fantasy.”

“With, please,” he asked again, knowing how close he already was.

Geralt nodded, then he unlaced the ties of his trousers quickly. He lifted his hips to tug them down with his smallclothes, freeing an already leaking erection. His breath was ragged and the cool air made him twitch. He rolled his head back onto the cushions and took a moment to breathe. Before picking his head up, he gripped himself and Jaskier in hand, giving a slow upward stroke. He groaned low and loud, at last getting the touch he craved.

Jaskier leaned forwards and rested his head against his shoulder, a sweet moan escaping him as he thrust into his touch.

“I love the way you sound,” Geralt said. He gave him another quick, appreciative tug, running his thumb over the head of his wet cock to elicit another cry.

He rocked his hips forwards and moaned softly in his ear. “You just like hearing exactly what you do to me,” he teased.

Geralt whimpered. He nodded, trying to find his voice. “That’s certainly a—ah!—larger part of it at the moment.”

Jaskier kissed his neck gently and held back another little whine. “Then make me scream for you,” he purred.

That did it. Geralt growled and flipped them over, tossing Jaskier back on the furs. He leaned down to leave another hard bite on his collar, breath coming fast and hot. He spread Jaskier’s knees apart and lowered himself so he was braced at Jaskier’s entrance. Without preparing him, he pressed the head of his cock against it, but he had enough sense to wait, even as his head was clouded with desire.

“Oil at least,” Jaskier requested breathlessly as he got his bearings. He loved when Geralt got like this, he was rough and instinct seemed to rule him; it was dangerous and attractive.

Geralt nodded. He gave Jaskier another stroke before leaving him. He hurried to his bedside and found a small box inside the drawer of his dresser. He rushed back and resumed his position. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and poured a generous amount over his hand and cock. He rubbed it against Jaskier’s hole and stuck one finger in roughly, impatient, but determined to get the oil inside.

Jaskier let out a soft whine and spread his legs further for him. “Fuck, Geralt, this is not going to last long,” he warned breathlessly. “Don’t stop.”

“I don’t intend to tease like you. You’ve kept me waiting long enough. I’m taking what I want, and I’m taking it _now.”_

Jaskier looked up at him wide eyed and flustered. He was a sight to behold, desperate and tied like a gift before him.

Time to unwrap it.

Geralt pressed himself inside, and though he showed great restraint, he didn’t give Jaskier much time to adjust. He groaned and gave Jaskier’s cock a squeeze. He was so damn tight.

Jaskier cried out as Geralt filled him. His eyes shut and he was panting as he strained against the silks. “Fuck, I forgot how big you were,” he whimpered.

“You’re still talking,” he grumbled. Jaskier wanted Geralt to make him scream? Fine. He’d make sure he couldn’t think of anything else. He pulled back and gave a hard thrust in, quickly followed by a second that brushed Jaskier’s prostate.

Jaskier cried out sharply and his hips bucked. “There! Gods, there,” he begged

Geralt pumped his fist, timed to another thrust. He pulled nearly all the way out, then snapped his hips back inside, followed by smaller, more desperate thrusts as he keened against Jaskier’s neck. “Right there?” he asked. “Is that where you want it, Julian? Does that feel good?” The words tumbled past his lips. Now that he was getting what he wanted, he enjoyed lording it over him. He already knew. He took pleasure in knowing it was a struggle to refute, or even respond.

Jaskier simply nodded as he tried to get a word out around moans and sweet little sounds as Geralt thrust into him. “Gonna—fuck, can’t think,” he whimpered as he tried to string together anything that would make sense.

“What’s wrong, Your Grace? Lost your tongue?” Geralt teased. He knew full well what it was. He slowed a moment to enjoy himself before going over the edge. “Where are your pretty words now?” he whispered.

“You’re a tease,” he whined breathlessly as he tried to hold on as his pleasure mounted. “Harder,” he begged softly.

Geralt obliged, fisting Jaskier’s cock, pumping as he thrust deeper, more erratically. He sank his teething into Jaskier’s neck and let himself go. Instinct carried him through their coupling and he felt the strain as his orgasm built to a head. He made low, guttural noises, and he had to keep Jaskier’s hip in a bruising hold to prevent him from slipping, such was the power of the force behind his every motion. “Come on—I can’t hold out long,” he panted. “Come for me, Julian. Come loud. Let them hear us all the way in Lyria.”

Jaskier hardly lasted long enough for him to finish his sentence before he came with a scream, his back arched off the furs and he strained against the silks. His breathing was quick and shallow as he tried to come down from the feeling. “Geralt, I want you to finish, please, please?” he begged, his thoughts still a fog.

He hadn’t needed to ask. Geralt grabbed his other hip, his hand finished with its work, and slammed Jaskier back against him as he thrust forward, riding him through the aftershock. It only took a few more thrusts before he finished. He came inside Jaskier with a vicious roar, filling him with his hot seed. He fell against his chest, Jaskier’s fresh semen smearing against his fine clothes. He shuddered, trying to breathe. His clean hand went searching until it found Jaskier’s cheek. He stroked it, leaning his head up to plant weak kisses against Jaskier’s lips.

Jaskier relaxed with his affections, and closed his eyes as he caught his breath. “Geralt, untie me, please?” he asked after a few moments in comfortable silence.

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned. He’d forgotten. He’d wondered why Jaskier’s fingers weren’t combing through his hair. He pulled out, rubbing a soothing hand against Jaskier’s tailbone, then rolled him over to free the bonds. “Was it too much?” he asked, voice soft with concern.

“No, it was perfect,” he said softly as he pulled his hands away and stretched out fully. “Just lay with me for a while?” he asked gently as he settled back into the furs.

Geralt smiled and gladly lay against his chest once more, wrapping him in his arms with a sigh. He nuzzled the side of Jaskier’s face affectionately and entwined their hands, legs tangled as he tried to wriggle up against as much of him as he could. It was a bit too warm, but he couldn’t be apart from him another second.

Jaskier kissed him gently before weaving a braid back into his hair, and securing it in place with his ribbon. “You earned it back,” he teased before combing his fingers through his hair.

A small noise escaped the back of Geralt’s throat at his words. His chest fluttered, but he was too spent for it to have full effect. “Thank you,” he said, voice tight. He meant it for the ribbon, the compliment, and the combing, but it was all he could manage to say.

Jaskier tucked himself up against him and kissed his shoulder. “You had me on edge for ages,” he teased as he closed his eyes.

“Since the desk,” Geralt mumbled in response, already hazy with sleep.

“You weren’t supposed to realize that,” he teased lazily before settling into sleep as well.

"Talking about me."

“Hush; hold me and sleep,” he mumbled softly.

And Geralt, who could deny him nothing, fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep and did not wake until the sun was streaking in through the windows.


	5. Chapter 5

Jaskier snuggled closer in an attempt to block out the light as he stirred. He was sore, and tired still, and Geralt was in his arms again. It’d be a waste to move.

Geralt felt him stirring and cracked one eye open. His time on the run had taught him always to be on alert, and it was an unfortunately lingering habit. It never let him sleep in when there was the slightest bit of noise; for the same reason, he lived out in the quiet of the country where he might be hidden and better hear people approaching. For only an instant he was on edge, feeling the arms curl around him, but they were familiar and safe. In time, he’d become more used to it. The day when Jaskier could wake up before him without his nerves jumping was a day he was looking forward to. He’d like to wake up to a surprise one day with no warning: breakfast in bed, a good-morning kiss, or maybe to his arms tied on the headboard … there were many delightful possibilities. But for now, waking to Jaskier alone was enough of a waking dream.

He smiled and closed his eyes once more. “Good morning,” he mumbled pleasantly.

Jaskier grumbled back something that sounded about the same, before peeking up at him. Geralt was always a pleasant sight in the morning, with his ruffled hair and sleep laden voice. It was something to look forward to.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked lazily as he moved to rest his head on his chest.

Geralt took a deep breath, then sighed and wrapped his arm over Jaskier’s hip with a happy hum. “Like the dead,” he answered. Though truth be told, it would have been more pleasant if they’d actually made it back to the bed. Even with the pillows and furs, the floor was a bit stiff.

“I’d agree, seeing as you just about killed me last night,” Jaskier teased lazily before kissing his shoulder. Last night had been incredible, but it’d be a miracle if he wasn’t feeling it now.

“You sounded like you enjoyed it,” he teased back. Geralt slipped his hand down to massage Jaskier’s lower back idly. After all they’d done, he was sure to be sore.

“Well, being fucked to death wouldn’t be the worst way to go out,” he teased as he settled under his touch.

Geralt put a finger to his lips and shushed him. “No jokes,” he reminded him half-heartedly, himself mostly joking. He was feeling playful, and the mention didn’t truly bother him. “At least not until after the honeymoon.”

Jaskier licked his finger, and rested his head against him. “I still can’t believe you destroyed your sheets last night,” he chuckled lazily.

The moment Jaskier’s tongue lapped at his finger, Geralt’s eyes snapped open. It was too early for any of that, yet his heart had already started to pick up the pace. He cleared his throat. “A necessary casualty,” he replied, face flushing. “I got caught up in the moment again. You tend to make it difficult to think otherwise.”

He chuckled fondly at that, and moved to kiss him. "You're adorable when you're flustered,” he teased before kissing him.

Geralt ran his fingers through Jaskier’s hair, pulling him closer. He’d missed waking up this way. It had only been twice, but it was so tender and familiar, he could swear he’d woken to Jaskier’s kiss every morning since. He turned his head, trying too hard to suppress his giggles to continue kissing him. And how strange it was—him, giggling! How did Jaskier manage so often to make it happen?

Jaskier kissed his cheek instead before sitting up and grinning down at him. “See? Adorable,” he teased again before reaching over to fix Geralt’s braid. “We should go into town this morning, I haven’t seen it yet.”

Geralt sat up excitedly. Yes! Even better than guiding him through less familiar lands, he could take Jaskier to explore his own home. And he would be the first to do it. It made his chest blossom with warmth and pride.

“We’ll take Roach and Pegasus along and have an all-day tour. We could fix another picnic lunch and eat it by the canal where the trade ships come in. I don’t expect there’ll be any today and we can watch the ducks float on the water. I know the spot the children like best to play and the ducks always go there looking for crumbs.”

"Darling, I love you, I really do, but I can't ride today," he said pointedly, "I rode for a week to get here, and I'm sore from the journey, as well as other things. Why don't we just walk?" he offered.

Geralt covered his mouth, having forgotten so easily that Jaskier would need to have an easy, _gentle_ day. He gave Jaskier’s cheek and apologetic peck. “Forgive me. But you know I won’t have you walking either and wearing yourself out. No, I’ll _carry_ you through town. Today, you won’t be lifting a finger,” he said.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. "That would be quite an interesting way to introduce me to our people," he teased lazily. "And your concern is sweet, but I'm sure a walk through the town to a picnic won't be too taxing for my delicate lordly self."

“Dukely, you mean.” Geralt tilted his head, thinking. “Dukeish? Hmm, either way, I mean to spoil you as my guest until the day you’ve officially been made a part of my household, and that means you’re going to have to put up with some royal treatment. If I’m stuck being an earl, I’d like at least to use that to give you the spoiling you deserve. So suck it up.”

"In theory, my father is still the duke," Jaskier pointed out, as he tied off the new braid. "And I must warn you, if you force me to obey court manners and traditions this early, it won't end well," he teased before slowly getting up and making his way over to a wash basin in the corner to clean himself up.

Geralt watched him walk away and lay back on the pillows, arms braced behind his head. He chuckled and closed his eyes. “Fuck the court manners,” he agreed. “I mean to be very rude when all this is over: walking around without my boots, cooking my own food, and all those other things that made the maids run away scared. Less manic, of course, but very uncivilized. As if having everything done for you is _more_ civilized than doing things yourself. I’d like nothing more or less than to go on living the life I’ve lived these last three years, taking care of myself as common men do. And of you,” he added.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. "Maybe we should invest in a cottage alongside the lake then?" he suggested as he ran a cloth along his chest. "Somewhere to retreat from all of this: a place for just you and I when we finish with our responsibilities and just want to live instead of rule. I much prefer you taking care of me anyways. Servants and cooks and maids make things easier, but it’s better when you do things yourself."

A cottage by a lake was as good as by the sea to him, as long as Jaskier was there. “I’ll talk to Vesemir about arranging it. We can stay there when we have business here in Rivia, and at your hunting lodge when in Lyria."

Geralt remembered being scolded his first week back for trying to take a serving platter from one of his footmen. He’d tried to make his own bed, only to find it remade for him when he returned to it. He drew the line when someone else tried to brush Roach and ready her saddle, and the reaction had been so strong that none dared try it again. It’d be nice to be somewhere else in a place they didn’t have to fight tooth and nail to get anything done by themselves.

Jaskier ran the cloth along his shoulders next and took a moment to stretch. "The lodge would be too far from Lettenhove for us to stay there, but I'll try to arrange for us to stay in the guest house without help?" he offered.

“We can work out the details later.”

Geralt followed his cue, stretching wide before he stood to join him in cleaning up. They’d need to call for another bath later, let Jaskier have a relaxing soak, but for now it was enough. He wrapped one of the furs around his shoulders and head then stalked up behind Jaskier to playfully nip at his neck. “Look at you; you look like you were eaten alive,” he teased. He took up the cloth and wiped the back of his shoulders for him.

"Every time you lay with me I always end up bruised and bitten," he teased lazily, before relaxing under his touch. "I like it, I like being yours."

“I can’t wait for the world to know it; for you to be my _husband,”_ he whispered.

Jaskier blushed slightly and glanced back at him with a smile. "I can't wait either. That's the only reason I'd put up with the pomp and circumstance of a wedding."

Geralt had just wrapped his arms around Jaskier when there came a very loud, slow knocking, each wrap of the knuckles punctuated by the pause between. There was only one person in the house who would knock with such authority.

“It’s Vesemir,” Geralt whispered cautiously.

"Let me grab a blanket before you let him in," he said before kissing his cheek, and heading over to his bed.

Geralt wrapped the fur around his waist quickly and checked himself over in the mirror. His hair was a mess but for the neat braid. The contrast made it look messier by comparison. No time for that now.

He made his way to the door and stopped with his hand on the lever, looking back at Jaskier.

Jaskier was in bed already with a blanket over his lap and nodded a bit. "I'm decent enough," he chuckled.

Geralt scoffed. “You’re never decent.” Then he opened the door. "Good morning, Vesemir.”

Vesemir looked him in the eye, altogether displeased. “Is it?” he asked. He let himself in and Geralt closed the door behind him, nervously following behind as Vesemir crossed the room. He eyed the tangled pile of furs by the fireplace, the dinner cart, and the clothes strewn about the room. He stopped, seeing the fur wrapped around Geralt, fully dressed, and frowned.

“Why are you wearing that?”

Geralt had already redone his trouser laces and was perfectly decent, but hearing Vesemir’s knock had made him forget and feel as exposed as Jaskier. “It was for a joke,” he replied, having just played wolf. He unwrapped the fur and crept onto the bed, sitting atop the covers at Jaskier’s side. He wrapped the fur around his shoulders, trying to avoid eye contact.

Jaskier stifled a chuckle and leaned against Geralt. “Good morning Vesemir,” he said lazily as he settled against his side. “What can we do for you?” he asked as he pulled the fur closer to himself.

“What I’ve already asked.” Vesemir stood at the bedside, giving them his sternest look. “I said keep it _tasteful.”_ He locked eyes with Jaskier. “I had to send one of the servants to retire early after what he heard when he came to deliver your dinner. There’s quite a bit of obscene talk below. I had hoped for something more modest.”

Jaskier went red at that, but still found himself at the edge of laughter. “To be fair, he could have made his presence better known. And it’s not entirely my fault,” he insisted. “I can’t exactly cover myself in bites, or be that loud alone.”

“It was my fault,” Geralt insisted, leaning between them. “I instigated it in the first place.”

“Regardless, I mean to have another talk later to prepare His Grace for the arrival of our guests. We’ve had a courier arrive this morning to precede the arrival of the Duke and Duchess de Lettenhove. They’ve called for a meeting with you, Geralt.”

Geralt’s blood rushed from his face. “Alone?”

Vesemir nodded. “I’ll be speaking with His Grace in the meantime,” he confirmed. He was behaving stiffer than usual: quite courtly in the early hours. It put Geralt on edge.

Jaskier was tense as well. “Do you know when they’re likely to arrive?” Jaskier asked gently, taking Geralt’s hand in his while he spoke. He was trying to take comfort in his touch, make himself remember that it would only be a week or two of this before they could run off together

“Before lunch. They mean to have their discussion in the dining hall.” He cast a quick glance at Geralt before adding, “Without the footmen.”

Geralt knew he would not be eating a bite at that long, imposing table. He gave Jaskier's hand a firm squeeze.

Jaskier leaned against his side reassuringly. “They like you, it’ll be fine,” he insisted, before glancing at Vesemir. “They’ll be the first guests then, and how many others are we expecting?”

“That’s what I mean to discuss with you. We’ll be reviewing the guest list in the study. I’ve already taken a look at the guests who’ve been confirmed and we’ll need you to be prepared for their arrival. Your parents will be expecting Geralt to greet them, and you at his side, but I will not have time to coach Geralt on his manners before then. The maids will be making the bath ready any moment. I want you both cleaned and dressed quickly as possible in anticipation. We’ll talk more when you’re through. You have forty minutes before I’ll be at that door again.”

“Understood, I’ll talk him through manners in our bath?” Jaskier offered once he digested all of that information. “We’ll be on our best behavior,” he assured him.

Vesemir narrowed his eyes as he nodded. “Don’t dawdle. This is serious,” he replied.

“We won’t,” he said with a little smile as he settled against Geralt’s side again.

The tell-tale sound of water splashing in the next room signaled that the maids had arrived. Vesemir gave them a stern look each. “Forty minutes,” he repeated, pointing a finger. “There’s a lot to do and very little time.”

Geralt started breathing again the moment the door shut behind him. “It’s happening,” he said, groaning low.

“And it will be perfect,” he assured him, before kissing his cheek. “Besides, it can’t be worse than we were expecting.”

Geralt turned his head and gave him a wry look. “There’s no such thing as a perfect meeting with the parents,” he countered. “And my expectations were already bad before.”

“And I doubt it’ll be any worse then,” he teased gently, trying to push down his own fears.

Geralt slipped off the bed and offered Jaskier a hand. “Shall we get to it? I believe you promised to teach me some manners.” His nose scrunched in distaste. “I would have rather said those words in a much different context,” he mumbled.

“I’ll remember that,” he teased as he took his hand and joined him. “And trust me, love, you’ll do fine.”

Geralt lead them to the bathroom as the maids were bustling out. He fetched the scent box and began to strip, talking as he did. “Did you mean it when you said they liked me? It sounds like a bit of a reach. I could understand them being polite or interested in Rivia, but liking me specifically—what reason would they have?”

“I wish I had a good answer for that,” he sighed softly as he slipped into the bath. “They just always believed you to be the ideal noble, they never thought you had any flaws.”

Geralt nearly slipped as he stepped into the tub. _“Me? Ideal?”_ It was preposterous!

Jaskier moved to sit at his side. “I don’t understand it either.” He sighed softly. “They never thought you were to blame.”

Geralt wrapped an arm around him, scowling somewhere beyond the walls. “But that means that they blamed _you._ And you had nothing to do with it.” If it wasn’t for the plan, he’d set them all straight, but that wouldn’t help Jaskier. The blame would still fall to him. This was the best way to soften the situation. “They’d side with a stranger over their own child … ” he muttered.

“It’s easier for them to blame me; the arrangement was still on, and it would make things uncomfortable otherwise, and they barely had to punish me for it. It just is what it is, I can’t change it now, but we can use it to our benefit,” he rambled as he snuggled closer to him.

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Geralt said, arm curling more protectively around him. Maybe in time things would be better. The minute—the very _minute_ the vows were spoken, he was taking Jaskier far away from it all and hiding somewhere calm and quiet, just the two of them.

“I know love,” he said softly. “Just don’t be angry with them,” he said softly as he settled into the water.

Geralt looked at him and sighed. “I’ll try not to be,” he promised, already feeling the anger subside. He would … try to like them. For Jaskier’s sake.

“So,” he said, changing subjects, “Courtly manners. What do I need to know to get through this meeting? How do I address a duke and duchess?” He doubted he'd be calling them mother or father, even _after_ the wedding.

Jaskier spent most of their bath going over titles and proper greetings for his family before they had to get dressed. He insisted Geralt wear his family’s colors, seeing as it was an easy way to make a good first impression, and with that they were on their way.

Vesemir guided them to the study once more. Inside, Eskel and Lambert were waiting, fussing with a stack of papers.

“He wouldn’t write that, just listen to the way he talks!”

“Oh, like you could do better, Lambert?”

“I spent the whole trip back from Novigrad with the man, of course I could!”

Vesemir shut the door with a heavy thud and the squabbling pair settled down at once. “Give Jaskier the chair,” he said. “It’s his letter; he’ll know best how to write it.”

Jaskier couldn’t help his chuckle. “It’s to be a love letter, right?” He hummed as he took the chair and grabbed a fresh piece of paper. “That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Geralt leaned against the desk and took up a pile of scribbled notes. His brow furrowed as he read through them, crease growing deeper and deeper with each new line. “Which one of you wrote this drivel?” he asked, waving the paper. “This isn’t romantic—this is _indecent.”_

Lambert pointed to Eskel a little too quickly to be believable.

Vesemir snipped the paper from his fingers and let it fall back on the desk. “Geralt, you may go with them, practice your greeting. I’ll call for you when it’s done. You three will only be in the way with your suggestions.”

“It’s my love letter—shouldn’t I contribute?” Geralt protested.

“No, it’s my love letter to you,” Jaskier teased. “Let it be a surprise, you’ll like it better that way.” He grabbed the other letter while he spoke and started to look it over. “Lambert you had to have written this, I have too much faith in Eskel to believe otherwise,” he chuckled lazily.

Eskel smirked. “See? He wouldn’t rhyme ‘silver’ with ‘quiver’ like an amateur.”

“I’ll stab you with my pen, you keep talking,” Lambert threatened.

“Also I don’t quiver in anticipation,” Jaskier said as he looked over at the pair. “Someone else does.”

Geralt smacked his arm. “That’s not how I remember things last night,” he countered. And he remembered _very_ well, though he'd rather not recollect the specifics in front of his men.

“Oh, but in the bath yesterday? I’m quite sure things were different,” he purred back.

Geralt glared at him before striding over to push Lambert and Eskel from the room. “Don’t say anything provocative while I’m gone, or I’ll teach _you_ some manners later—and it won’t be nearly as fun as before.”

Lambert cringed and swiped at his ears. “Can you stop flirting for five minutes?” he groaned.

“No,” Eskel answered in Geralt’s stead. “That was part of the plan, remember?”

“Not when there’s nobody else around, it isn’t.”

“To be fair you two aren’t nobody, and I look forwards to it, darling,” Jaskier purred as the group left. “Good luck with the manners!”

“He’ll need it!” Lambert called.

Before Vesemir closed the door on them, Jaskier heard the distinctive “Ow! Geralt?” following a quiet smack. Then it was just the two of them. The air was tense once more.

“He’ll do well, I know it,” Jaskier said with a little smile as he tried to break the tension settling around them.

“He’s playing an amnesiac. I’m not so concerned about him,” Vesemir replied. He let the rest go unsaid.

“I’ll be fine too, I’m good at acting, better at being in love with him,” he said softly.

For a moment, a smile graced Vesemir’s features. Then the moment passed and his face once more resembled that of a teacher with a toothache who’d just left an unruly classroom. “I’d like you to make reference to a correspondence,” he said. “Previous letters. That would help imply a foundation for this love we’re selling and your determination to see the marriage through. Be as eager as you like, but make it genuine. And remember: this letter will be recited out loud. It will be your ace to draw sympathy from the court.”

“I know, and I already have some ideas. I’ll make them believe it,” he insisted gently. “I want this to work.”

Vesemir was too used to his guardsmen and Geralt. He had little faith in their or anyone else’s ability to think things through. “It _will_ work. It’s getting late and we don’t have time for another plan. Your parents’ arrival is earlier than we expected.”

“I know, and I will do my best.” Jaskier said softly. He meant it, he truly wanted all of it to go as planned, to spare Geralt of the pain he went through.

“You’ll do _my_ best,” Vesemir corrected. “I don’t know what you consider to be your best, but we can’t leave any room for failure. There’s too much at stake.” He began sorting through the better drafts of the letter. He’d been up much of the night working. Everything had to be perfect; not only for Geralt’s sake, not for Jaskier’s, but for all of Rivia and Lyria.

“Yes sir,” Jaskier said gently, looking away from him while he spoke. The feeling was too familiar, he felt like he was going to be sick.

By the end of the hour, Jaskier produced a letter that satisfied Vesemir’s relentless requirements. Vesemir made a quick copy and called Geralt back into the room to study it, memorize as much as he could, while he and Eskel worked on aging the one Jaskier had penned.

Geralt read with growing enthusiasm, sneaking glances at Jaskier all the while. “Makes me wish we _had_ written letters to each other,” he said. He smiled fondly at the page, rereading the opening lines.

_My heart,_

_I grow weary of waiting every day we spend apart. You fill my thoughts, my dreams, every waking moment I spend hopelessly yearning for your embrace. I wish to see you, to run my fingers through your hair, look into your eyes and tell you how long I’ve waited for you. I wish to shower you in affections, to spend every moment with you, to love you the way I was made to. I never want to be far from your side, if I lose sight of you once we’re together, I fear my heart may never recover. After the wedding I want nothing more than to run away with you, to go out and see the world through your eyes, to be alone and loved. It will be glorious. Sadly we must wait another month before I can be in your arms, but I will spend every moment thinking of you, my sweet Geralt._

_Your love, Julian_

“Well, if we’re ever apart for long enough, I expect one,” Jaskier teased before making his way to his side. “I’m certain yours would be sweet.”

Geralt wrapped him in a tight embrace. “We’ll never know. I don’t plan to ever be apart from you. You’ll have to settle for spoken words instead.”

“That will be more than enough then,” he hummed before kissing his cheek.

“However, I wouldn’t be above slipping notes under the door when we stop being joined at the hip long enough to take separate baths. Or leaving them on your pillow if I wake before you. Slipping them in your dresser drawers … ”

“I don’t hear you _reading,”_ Vesemir scolded, not looking up from his task.

“That would be sweet,” Jaskier agreed before kissing his cheek. “But you should have that mostly memorized.”

Geralt made a face behind Vesemir’s turned back, then gave Jaskier one more kiss before returning to his work. He sat down on one of the chairs and held the paper out before him, eyes scanning the page. Then, without looking up, he patted the seat beside him and rested his hand palm up on the arm rest in invitation.

Jaskier sat next to him and took his hand, leaning against his side. “If you ever start to forget just get teary, it’ll give you a second to think,” he offered.

“I’m sure nobody will mind me pulling it out. It would be sentimental.”

There was a knock at the door. Before anyone could go to answer it, Lambert let himself in. “How much more time do you need?” he asked. His face was tight, expression anxious.

“How much do we have?” Jaskier asked, leaning into Geralt a bit more as he spoke. “I don’t want to rush into this.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to; the carriage has been sighted coming up the far hill.” Lambert looked at Geralt, then turned to Vesemir. “How’s the letter? Is it done?”

Eskel finished rubbing a crease with a wool carder. “It’s done. Stained, folded, roughed, and battered, just as it would be.”

“Put it in your pocket, Geralt,” Vesemir said. He took Geralt’s practice letter and shoved it and the drafts in the fireplace. Nobody would know. “Pack up the kit, Eskel, then join us and the staff out front. Lambert? Tuck in your shirt.”

Jaskier stole one of the letters off the stack, and pocketed it for himself. “We should wait with them at the door,” Jaskier said as he stood as well.

Vesemir saw the quick snatch as he knelt to light the fire. “Julian! Put that back,” he snapped. “We can’t have drafts just sitting around!”

“It’ll be fine, we have to go,” he reminded as he hurried Geralt out with him.

Geralt turned over his shoulder, listening to Vesemir’s protests. He looked back at Jaskier as they made their way down the hall. “Jaskier?” Putting Vesemir on edge made his own confidence dwindle.

He looked up at him with a nervous smile. “It’s my first love letter to you, I wanted a copy...” he admitted.

Geralt hadn’t really considered it to be a real love letter. He thought it was sweet, but nothing legitimate. He pulled his copy from his pocket and looked it over again with that in mind and his heart rose a little higher in his chest. “This is real then?” he asked. With all of Vesemir's nagging input, he felt it was a collaborative prop piece.

"Of course it’s real, I didn't just write sweet nothings for the sake of it, it's heartfelt, even if the concept is a little off from our current reality," he said fondly.

He knew Jaskier would mean anything he wrote; he should have taken that truth into consideration. “Then we can share this one,” he said as he pulled Jaskier’s hand to his chest. They’d be together, after all.

The house staff was already lined up out front when they opened the doors and stepped out. The carriage was coming down the far hill, just as Lambert had announced. For a moment, Geralt really _felt_ like he _had_ suffered a bout of amnesia, as he could not recall a time when he had ever seen the duke or duchess face to face. He worried they’d be severe, like Vesemir in a mood, but of a more constant temperament.

“Everything will be fine,” he whispered, tucking Jaskier’s hand in the crook of his arm.

Jaskier leaned against him slightly, "I hope so," he said softly as he watched the familiar carriage roll closer.

When it came to a stop, one of the staff went to open the door, and two more to start the work of taking the luggage in. Geralt took a deep breath as the carriage door swung outward.

A tall, lean man stepped from the carriage first. He looked like Jaskier for the most part, but the eyes were different, sharper, and they seemed to carry the age which was barely present in the rest of his features. It was clear that this was the duke, and he soon helped a woman from the carriage as well. She was shorter by him than a fair amount, and the blue of Jaskier's eyes had clearly come from her. She was done up in elegant silks, and her hair, a pristine golden blonde color, was done up in curls. She was clearly the sweeter of the pair and was the first to speak up.

"Lord Haute-Bellegarde, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you," she said with a polite smile, as she took her husband's arm.

“I see my son is enamored with you already,” the duke added fondly as he looked over the pair.

Geralt was surprised. Somehow he had not expecting them to be so beautiful, as if he truly were waiting on some ogreish pair to step from the fine coach. But it made sense: Jaskier’s looks had to come from somewhere, though he seemed to have popped into being of his own volition, escaped from some romantic collection of poetry and fairy stories.

Geralt bowed slightly and rose to speak in his best courtly manner, imitating the language Jaskier had taught him. “It is long we’ve loved one another, Your Grace. Now we may simply do so in one place.”

He turned to take the Duchess de Lettenhove's hand with a polite kiss. "The pleasure is mine," he said. "I welcome you both to Rivia, and to Lake Eskalott. I hope the journey was pleasant for you."

She smiled back at him slightly. "It was well enough; the countryside is rather pleasant this season," she said warmly.

"I haven't visited the lake in years, it’s just as picturesque as I remembered," the duke added fondly. "May we come in? It's been a long journey, and I'm sure my wife would appreciate a proper seat."

“Of course. Right this way,” Geralt said. He guided them inside, walking with stately posture. “I appreciate the lakeside much more now that I’ve come home. Memory is always a poor substitute for reality, and I’m afraid what little I remembered was faint. It feels new to me, now, yet familiar all the same: like taking a moment to look at a portrait hanging on the wall, passed so many times it becomes invisible.”

Vesemir was waiting in the hall before the dining room. He smiled, listening to Geralt’s words as he drew nearer. He appreciated the subtlety.

Jaskier held Geralt's arm as they walked along. He listened intently as Geralt spoke, and made note of this more poetic side of him. He would have to ask him about it when they were alone again.

"Oh dear, what do you mean?" the duchess asked as they walked beside Geralt and Jaskier. "Did something happen on your travels?"

The duke patted his wife's hand gently as they walked. "He must mean his memory fading over time, of course."

“I’m afraid it isn’t anything so kind as faded memory, Your Grace, and it was not simple travelling that took me from my beloved home,” Geralt replied. He closed his eyes and sighed—a real sigh, though not fueled by memories of wandering. He sighed because they’d come to the dining hall, and Vesemir was inching forward to take Jaskier from his arm.

Geralt gave Jaskier a kiss on the forehead and let his arm go. Tenderly, he cupped his cheek, looking lovestruck as he felt, if only a little more performative. It was not by much. “I’ll come find you after,” he promised, then turning to the duke and duchess said, “Julian has already heard the truth and suffered the loss. I would not have him relive those three years again when we speak. Please excuse his absence for the hour.”

Jaskier moved to kiss his cheek gently before stepping back. "We'll meet again for lunch, I'm certain there's much to be discussed," he said politely before walking off with Vesemir.

The duke eyed the door for a moment, and glanced back at Geralt. "After you then, there are more than a few things to be discussed."

Geralt could not help thinking as he lead them in, that the duke’s tone had shifted. He politely pulled the duchess’ seat back and pushed it in for her before taking his place at the head of the table. He did not begin his story until all were settled.

“I was attacked,” he began, “while riding your horse on the main road in the early morning, the day the gossip claims I’d run off. I have heard the things people have said to explain my absence. Drache Dagger wounded me and your horse carried me off. I fainted in the saddle after a vicious blow to the head, and when I awoke, I could not remember a thing. I became a wanderer with no memory. I’d been wandering for three years.”

The duchess gasped sharply, and looked over at him in disbelief. "I can't believe that rogue dared to travel so far west. How did you manage to find your memory again?"

The duke seemed a bit more skeptical of the claim but didn't say as much out right. "I'm glad you managed to return home safely, you weren't an easy man to track, with or without your memories."

Geralt smiled gently at the duchess with a sad expression. “I’m afraid Drache had some concerns about the monopoly our trade alliance would have upon his own lands. He’s never been one for economics, and the threat would be enough to bring him to Rivia. In addition, he and I had a history in school when we were younger which added to his motivation.”

He took a pause, then pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. The stress of the meeting was easy to express otherwise as stress from his story. “As for my memory, it’s still bothersome. Drache hunted me down in Novigrad, tried to finish me before I could be found. I had to duel him in the street, and the encounter became the catalyst which brought the memory of the first fight back. He was found dead days later from another brawl, I’m told. The news was like a lock opening. During the voyage home, my men helped me to remember bit by bit who I was, where I had come from. To my name I had only my horse, my swords, and this.”

Geralt pulled Jaskier’s letter from his vest pocket and held it aloft.

"May I see that?" The duchess asked gently, stepping forwards a bit, to get a closer look.

"And you must excuse any gossip you may have stumbled across in your roaming, you know how news, and courtly dramatics likes to get over blown as its handed about." the duke said as he followed after his wife.

Geralt nodded solemnly. As he placed the note delicately in the duchess’ hands, he spoke again. “It had arrived the day before the accident.” He went on to explain the many letters he and the young duke had exchanged during the time between the announcement of the engagement and his disappearance. He told them of the swords and the great speech he meant to rehearse when he presented them to their son. He wove a sorry tale of how the swords had lead him to become a bounty hunter, borrowing from his legitimate history.

“And all the while, I carried this note. It gave me a name and hope. On the worst days, I would take it out and read it for comfort, knowing there was someone who loved me so completely. It pained me beyond measure to know I’d left someone behind, but I knew not where, nor how to find him. I knew only that his name was Julian, and that he would be waiting for me. I never meant to make him wait so long.”

There was a sincerity as he spoke, a lump forming in his throat. It had been cruel, leaving him behind. It was something he’d never fully forgive himself for doing. “I don’t deserve him, even now,” he whispered.

The duchess pulled him into a tight hug at that, and the duke took the note from his wife to read through it.

"Oh you poor dear," she said gently, rubbing his back while she spoke, before stepping back to look at him. "I'm sure Julian has forgiven you; I've never seen him so in love."

“I know he loves me as dearly as I love him—perhaps more. I mean to prove myself to him, make up for our lost time. Just as he wishes in his letter, I, too, wish to never be far from his side. I’d be with him now, but the subject would only pain him further; I would not speak of Drache in front of him, force him to imagine the scene.”

"He's always been delicate," the duke said lazily as he handed the letter back to Geralt. "Now, we have quite a bit of business to discuss concerning our planned trade route, as well as your plans for the future of Eskalott."

Geralt folded the letter carefully and returned it to his pocket. He didn’t like the duke’s easy dismissal, but he did not let it show. “My advisor tells me you mean to take on the majority of the business. I’ll need time to study and refamiliarize myself with the logistics. My condition will not enable me to form sound business plans alone until I’ve made a more thorough recovery.”

"Understandable enough, you and Julian will reacclimate to polite society together then," the duke said as he sat down at the table. "Sit with us, we'll discuss finding you tutors, and spending time in Lyria as well to prepare for your future."

An idea struck Geralt then. An idea of sound, sensible economics. It came from his time in Novigrad, taking time to familiarize himself with the land. He understood it and its economy better than his own, having seen it at work up close in action, rather than on paper.

“Before coming to Lyria, I mean to take Julian with me on a tour of Rivia after the wedding, following the proposed trade route. We’ll become familiar with the markets and merchants together, and get a sense for the products we’d be exporting and their management. Afterwards, we’d go travelling outward to do the same for our partner contracts and imports.”

He cleared his throat, folding his hands politely upon the table. “Of course, we’ll have tutors along who know the business. I think it would bring Julian some comfort to return to Lyria at the end of the tour, then he would be able to teach me about his own country’s trade after he’s been taught how to explain such things. He’ll take to it quickly. He’s clever.”

In truth, he wished to extend his stay in Rivia as long as possible before leaving. Heading straight to Lyria would be too much after so long away.

"Well, a proper reeducation in the traditional sense would be far more … sensible, but practical learning shouldn't be cast aside either, I suppose," the duke said with a soft sigh. "Julian does tend to foster a certain level of fondness amongst his subjects once they meet him in person, so there isn't much of a downside to consider. Traveling and familiarizing yourselves with the lords and ladies along our route would also be a good idea. This proposal would have my blessing, if you promised to do as much. Julian has a reputation to repair."

Geralt smiled, heart beating quickly. “Yes, I knew you would bring an expert opinion to the matter,” he flattered. “I did not consider that aspect myself. We’ll be certain to call on the nobility. I’m sure they would be all too delighted to discuss their contracts as well!”

He nodded curtly. "Then you have my blessing. I expect the best from you. Before you disappeared I had high hopes in this union, and now they've been restored, seeing as you're a sensible young man. Maybe you can impart some of that to Julian as well."

“He’s plenty sensible on his own,” Geralt replied. “Despite everything said against him, he fosters a deep love for his country and its people. He’s already studied my land’s customs in preparation for this marriage. I’m quite proud of his efforts. I mean to live up to his standard.”

The duke nodded a bit. "Well, I applaud your efforts," he said lazily before continuing. "I expect to see a full plan for this excursion before you leave."

Geralt stood and bowed. “I’ll begin drafting the plans with my advisor this evening,” he promised. “Is that everything you wished to discuss?”

"I'm surprised actually, you managed to keep a strong grasp of economics through all of this." He pointed out, as he watched Geralt.

The duke’s suspicion made Geralt’s skin crawl with apprehension, but he only smiled and answered, “My advisor came up with most of the plan. I know enough to understand it after the studying I did on the homeward voyage. They wanted me to arrive well-versed enough to hold a conversation with you without too much struggle.”

“Ah, well, Vesemir was always bright, and quite the tactician, politically and otherwise.” He praised half-heartedly. “There really is just one thing left to discuss then. How have you been getting along with Julian?”

Geralt sat himself back in his chair happily and leaned forward, resting on the back of his hand. Finally, a topic he could discuss with ease. “He’s wonderful,” he sighed. “He’s everything I could have hoped from his letter and more. We’ve gone riding together and he’s played his lute for me in the evening. I’m jealous of all the time he spent with my guard on his journey; I wish I might’ve spent that time by his side instead. I’m anxious to go to him now—we’re hardly apart an hour of the day.”

“Ah young love, it’s always so sweet to see,” the duchess said warmly. “He’s always been quite the romantic actually, always day dreaming about sweet things to do once he met you, before everything happened of course. He was lovesick since the engagement was announced. I suppose I might actually be to blame for that, I was always reminiscing about our engagement, and how his father swept me off my feet and made me feel more like a queen than simply a lady,” she said warmly as she sat beside Geralt.

“Oh, his favorite flowers are snapdragons by the way: snapdragons and buttercups. He was always very fond of them, do what you will with that,” she said with a wink.

The duke couldn’t hide his smile if he tried as he listened to his wife, affection more than apparent in his expression.

“He … never told me.” Geralt felt a new lump rising in his throat. The duchess’ words made him feel so loved, and so guilty at the same time. Of course Jaskier would be lovesick. Of course he’d pine for a fiancé he’d never even met. He had to blink several times to press the tears down before they threatened to make themselves known.

She held his hand gently. “The poor dear probably didn’t want to scare you once you got your memories back. Too much at once would be overwhelming,” she said softly. “But I guess he always had a soft spot for you, and now that you’re together, it’s good to see that it’s reciprocated. I could never imagine him truly heartbroken, and I hope to never encounter it.”

Her words were too gentle. At once, Geralt’s façade broke, and the tears fell unbidden. He grasped her hand in his and lowered his head to their twined hands so they might not see his face. He’d spent so long cursing Jaskier’s name, even before running off, and Jaskier had kept affection for him before they’d even met! It was too much to bear.

“I left him alone for so long,” he said, choking back a sob. “I was such an idiot.”

She cupped his face in her hand gently, and wiped the tears from his cheeks. “It wasn’t your fault, no one could have predicted the accident,” she said gently. “He’s happy now, that should be enough for you both. He loves you and feels loved, that’s what’s important.”

It wasn’t true. In a month’s time, nobody would know how horribly Geralt had hurt Jaskier. Nobody but them. He would spend every day making up for it, but something whispered that I would never be enough.

Then he remembered there were snapdragons in the garden. He was sure he could find some buttercups on the hills. Wiping his eyes, he stood once more. “I’ve got to see him now,” he said, voice shaken. “Forgive me, but I can’t stay.”

“Of course, we’ll retire for a bit and meet you two for lunch later on,” the duchess said gently, not giving her husband room to argue. “I know you’ll do right by him, your parents would be proud.”

* * *

Jaskier stood by the door to the dining room, trying to look through the key hole as they started talking. They would be kind to Geralt, he knew that much, but what else would they discuss, what else was on the line? He was nervous at the start and now he was completely on edge.

Vesemir tugged at Jaskier’s sleeve. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Lambert and Eskel. Come away from there,” he scolded.

“I feel like I just tossed him in with a viper,” he mumbled as he followed after.

“Fair trade since he left you to the wolves. He’s tough; he’ll manage just fine.”

Vesemir guided them back to the study once more. Another _lovely_ discussion awaited them and Jaskier was certain he’d avoid the place by the end of all of this like it was infested with plague rats. The door shut and Vesemir motioned for Jaskier to sit. He stood in front of him, a hand held out expectantly.

Jaskier didn’t move. “I’m not giving it to you,” he said softly, refusing to meet his eyes once he sat. “It’s mine, I know it’s selfish and all that other shit but it’s mine,” he mumbled.

“It’s dangerous. You can write another letter, or Geralt could write one for you to carry if that’s what you want, but you can’t keep a draft.”

“I wrote it, it’s mine, I’m keeping it,” he said again. “He got to be selfish and reckless for three years. I just want to be sentimental for a moment.”

Vesemir shoved his hand forwards the way he did when Lambert stole his pen or Eskel tried to take command of his notebook. It was the same way he did when Geralt took one of his best swords as a young boy to go chopping at saplings in the garden.

“You’ll have a lifetime to be sentimental after the wedding,” he scolded. “Now is the time for practicality more than ever, Julian. There will be guests arriving tonight and through the week. I need your focus. I need to know that you can do what’s expected of you. If you can’t do the smallest of these tasks, this whole arrangement will come crashing down on our heads! It’s just a scrap of parchment. You still have the words.”

Jaskier shrank back in his seat slightly and pulled a knee up to his chest. “You don’t understand, Vesemir,” he said softly, not making a move to hand him the parchment. “I’ll go stash it amongst my things—this is important to me okay? It—it just is, I can follow orders and keep my head down, I’ve done it for years. I just want this.”

“You’re right: I don’t understand. And neither do you.” Vesemir rubbed at his temple, grimacing. “Think for a moment: it’s _here_ in Rivia. It would make more sense to be among your things in Lyria. Don’t you find it odd that you’d be carrying a letter penned by your own hand, rather than a letter written by Geralt? And there are prying maids in every house who go rooting through the most secret possessions.”

Vesemir stuck out his hand again. “Found out or not, it isn’t about the letter,” he continued. “We can easily say you kept the drafts of your letters; it’s hardly a suspicious thing in itself. We can lie and say you brought a draft in the hopes of helping refresh Geralt’s memory. But that’s not the point. This isn’t about the letter itself. It’s about whether or not you can do what needs to be done, even when it’s difficult to do!”

“Fine, take it. But you should tell Geralt to stop wearing that ribbon too then. I haven’t worn it in sixth months, there’s no reason for it to be here,” he muttered as he dropped the letter. It was his first draft of it, with lines scratched out and rewritten, and notes scattered about the page. “And don’t lecture me about duty, I don’t need reminding.”

“I hadn’t given it any thought—thank you for bringing it to my attention. I’ll tell him first thing,” Vesemir said, stooping to pick up the paper. He turned to the fireplace, taking the tinderbox down from the mantle once more. “We should replace it as soon as possible with a less incriminating ribbon before anyone notices. Maybe burn it too.”

“Don’t burn it,” he insisted. “Please, I know it brings him comfort.” He rose to his feet. “I’ll be going now, I feel sick,” he mumbled as he started off towards the door.

Vesemir turned. “Wait! Get back in here, we haven’t even been over the guest list yet!” he shouted. But Jaskier was already gone.

Lambert came around the corner. He saw Jaskier approach and raised a hand to wave. “Hey! You’ll never guess what _I_ just overheard. I was just on my way to see—”

But Jaskier didn’t stop. He brushed right past Lambert, moving steadily faster.

“Jaskier?” Lambert called.

Jaskier didn’t stop to grab his saddle when he took his horse out, he simply settled on going out with just the bridle. He was quick to leave before the wolves could stop him, and he rode Pegasus out to the lakeside. They had passed a small clearing yesterday along the lake’s edge, and that was where the bard decided to hide out. He tied his horse to a sturdy tree and tucked himself amongst some ancient roots at the edge of the lake. He tried to settle, but tears came far before reason did. It was all too much. Everything kept changing, and the pressure was too much all at once. Vesemir had him thoroughly worried and stressed beyond belief. He didn’t want Geralt to get hurt, of course he didn’t. He just wanted his letter, something to remind him, something to hold dear.

Lambert had hurried after Jaskier only in time to see him dashing off on his horse. He ran back inside, shouting for Vesemir and Eskel. Eskel arrived first, Vesemir bringing up the rear.

“What’s wrong?” Eskel asked. “Is it Geralt again?”

“Worse. It’s Jaskier. He just came running out of the house and grabbed a horse. I don’t know where he’s going—he doesn’t know the area!”

“Fuck,” Eskel hissed.

Vesemir pointed to the stables. “Go find him. Don’t let him get turned around out there. This is the wrong time for another man hunt. Hurry!”

Lambert scrambled off to comply.

Vesemir turned to Eskel. “Go and fetch the driver and the stablehand from the kitchen. We need riders to follow after him. I want you to stay behind in case this goes on too long; you’re the most practical and you can talk down the duke and duchess if they start asking after him.”

“But what about Geralt? He’ll want to see him the moment the meeting is through.”

“Then wait for him to finish and send him out on a horse!” Vesemir snapped. He knew this was all because of his poor own handling. He couldn’t get a read of Jaskier’s character. Evidently the methods he used to prepare the wolves for their many tasks was not suited to him. The damage was done, however. All that could be done now was make an effort to fix things.

As Vesemir turned to the stables, Eskel hurried back inside. As he rounded the hall that lead to the foyer, he nearly collided with Geralt rushing toward the front garden. They fumbled, shoulders bumping. Geralt smiled weakly at him and laughed.

“Good timing, Eskel,” he said. “Do you know where Jaskier is? I need to see him right away.”

“Lambert just saw him ride off on a horse. I was on my way to fetch some help.”

“Help? For what? Does he need an entourage to go for a ride?” Geralt scoffed. They really _were_ shadowing their every move until the wedding.

“He’s not gone for a ride Geralt. He’s run off, like you.”

Geralt’s blood ran cold. “No he hasn’t,” he rebuffed. Jaskier would never.

“Vesemir’s in the stables now, hitching up his horse if you don’t believe. He was just briefing His Grace about the guests and—”

Geralt was already sprinting past him. Vesemir. He knew what the trouble was, even if he didn’t know the specifics.

He found Vesemir in the stables, just finishing with his horse’s tack. Geralt didn’t bother hitching Roach up with either bridle or saddle. He called her forward, climbed the fence onto her back, and set off with his hands in her mane.

“Geralt!” Vesemir called. “What about the duke and duch—”

“Fuck off, Vesemir! See to them yourself!” Geralt bellowed back. “They’ll need more than my explanations if Jaskier’s run out on us, and I’m putting your neck on the executioner’s block! Leave him for me and get back to the house! You’ve done enough!”

Vesemir was too stunned to respond.

Jaskier was a mess by the time Geralt found him. He hadn’t gone far, just about a mile and a half or so, but even that time alone was enough. He had curled in on himself, hidden amongst the roots of a tangle of trees, and was desperately trying to pull himself back together. Everything was wrong. He wanted to be angry, then he couldn’t; he wanted to spend time with his lover, he couldn’t do that either. He wanted to hold on to a piece of a past that should have been theirs, a fairytale he’d dreamed of for years. But that tiny sentiment was dangerous, and disappointment rested heavy on his shoulders.

“Jaskier?” Geralt whispered. He’d tied Roach beside Pegasus and come walking quietly. He made only enough noise to let Jaskier know he was coming so as not to suddenly appear at his side and frighten him. He placed on hand on the bark of the tree as he came around, listening to Jaskier’s breathing.

“Fuck—I, I just need a minute, you weren’t supposed to come out here,” he mumbled softly, before looking up at him bleary eyed. “It’s too much,” he said softly. “I feel so small and helpless—I can’t do any of it right—it’s all too much … ”

“I’m a bounty hunter and I learned how to track people at night. Finding someone I know in distress in the daylight is simple work.” Geralt crouched down in front of him, sitting among the leaves and sticks. “I told Vesemir off,” he said. “He’s been pushing you since you arrived. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

“Usually I hold up better under pressure...” he admitted with a soft chuckle as he reached out to hold him. “I can’t stand the way he talks, it’s too much like the duke. Firm, unyielding, it makes you feel so small...” he mumbled.

Geralt shushed him, stroking his back comfortingly. “If the pressure becomes too much, you don’t have to crush yourself under it. I’m here to help you. You’ve been doing such a good job for such a long time, trying your hardest. They don’t see it, but it’s true. You did everything right. Nothing about this is your fault.”

Jaskier held him tight and hid his face in his shoulder. “Can we stay out here for a little longer?” he asked softly, worry seeming to slowly leave his voice. “I don’t want to go back like this … ”

“We can stay all night if you want. If anyone comes to take us back, I’ll knock them out with a branch,” Geralt joked, tucking his chin over Jaskier’s head.

Jaskier chuckled and played with his shirt slightly. “How was your meeting?” he asked gently once he leaned back to look at him.

“Better than I expected. I bought us a tour of the Continent and it only cost us a few cursory visits to some trade partners' estates. I also got to hear a bit about you. Your mother was talking about what you were like at home.”

Jaskier blushed at that. “Please tell me she didn’t … ” he said, clearly embarrassed already. “You don’t need to hear stories about me when I was scrawny and naive.”

Geralt chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Nothing like that. More recent: when the engagement was first announced. Apparently you would daydream about all the things you wanted to do with me. You should tell me about them sometime.”

“They’re sugary,” he said gently, his blush still staining his cheeks. “I was lovesick, I never really grew out of that … ” he admitted.

“Haven’t you learned anything from our time together in Novigrad?” Geralt stroked his cheek with one finger, admiring his blush. “I like sweet things,” he teased. “You included. You _especially.”_

“Oh shut it, I can’t even flirt back properly right now,” he mumbled softly before moving to sit in his lap.

“Good. That means I can dote on you and you have to sit back and listen.” Geralt wrapped his arms around him in a more comfortable position, nestling his back against the thick roots for support. “I don’t want you to be lovesick. I want you to be comfortably in love. It hurts to think about now; I actually went running out of the meeting when she told me. I wanted to see you so badly in that moment. I nearly had a heart attack when Eskel said you’d gone off.”

“I’d never run from you,” he assured him. “I just need you to know that.” He fully settled against his chest and glanced up at him.

“I know. _All_ of us have run from Vesemir at some point. I just didn’t want you to run off alone.”

“By your usual logic I’m not alone: I have my horse,” he teased lazily.

Geralt laughed. “That’s true. I’m never alone when I have Roach. But a horse can’t do this, can it?” He gave Jaskier’s cheek a big, messy kiss and nuzzled up against it, squeezing him with his arms.

Jaskier pushed him off and giggled all the while. “You’re ridiculous, but I love it,” he said before kissing him properly.

“Hmm, I got you to giggle: my scheme worked. Very cute, by the way.”

“Oh shut up already, I can be cute when I’m less stressed out,” he mumbled.

“Please do. In the meantime, how would you like to relax? We can lay down, have a nap. I could play with your hair awhile. You could write a _very_ petty song about Vesemir’s thick head.”

“I don’t write petty things, that’s a job for lesser bards,” he teased lazily. “I wouldn’t mind laying down for a while though. Just curling up with you for a while...”

Geralt scooted back with an arm behind his head. He patted his chest invitingly. “You picked a good spot for hiding,” he said. The trees were thick and shady. It was pleasantly cool.

He rested his head on his chest and laid atop him. “I saw it on our ride, and I figured if I got lost being on the water would be better than in the woods,” he mumbled softly.

“Smart. There are wolves in the woods if you go deep enough at night.”

“Dumbass, there are wolves in the house,” came a familiar voice above them.

Geralt cracked open an eye. “One less if you’re out and about, Lambchop.”

“Lambert, I won’t hesitate to castrate you if you try to haul us back right now,” Jaskier grumbled.

Lambert put his hands up in surrender. “How can I haul you back? I’m still looking by the woods. I haven’t seen a thing,” he said.

“Good. And if you should happen to see anyone else on your way to the woods, you’ll be sure to tell them you saw _nothing_ here and will continue to see nothing for at least a few hours,” Geralt added, closing his eyes once more.

Jaskier pulled one of Geralt’s hands up into his hair. “Thank you Lambert, this is why you’re my favorite,” he mumbled.

Geralt frowned, opening his eyes again. “What, _I’m_ not your favorite?” he whined.

“Different sort of favorite,” Jaskier assured him gently. “He’s my favorite traveling companion.”

Geralt tugged at his hair playfully and said, “I’m stealing that spot during the honeymoon.”

“And I look forward to not having to hear this stuff when you’re gone,” Lambert grumbled. “I’ll tell them to pack it up. Just try to be back in time for dinner, alright? We’ve got fancy-people stuff to do this evening and I want to get it over with early.”

“Yeah so do we,” Jaskier hummed before glancing up at Geralt with a pout. “I have high standards, love, we’ll see,” he teased.

“Oh, so you’d rather honeymoon with Lambert than with me?” Geralt asked, giving his pouty cheek a pinch.

“I don’t want to hear this sappy horseshit,” Lambert groaned, remembering his first encounter with Jaskier. He put his fingers in his ears and stalked off, leaving them behind to their nonsense in peace.

“To be fair, he was very kind to me,” Jaskier pointed out, before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “And we haven’t traveled together yet.”

“Hmm … I say we ditch the rest and start travelling _now._ I’m eager for that spot as your favorite,” he teased. He ran his hands through Jaskier’s hair soothingly, letting the strands trail out through his fingers.

“I’m really tempted to say yes,” he teased back. “I’d love to leave before half of Lyria and Rivia’s respected families arrive.”

Geralt continued his ministrations thoughtfully. “Why don’t we?” he asked. “Not permanently, but for an hour or two when they start arriving and it all gets to be too much. I don’t care what you’re doing or who you’re with: before you hit the breaking point again, come find me, call for me, and I’ll steal you away awhile.”

“I—I would really like that actually. I should be okay but just in case anything happens I’ll tell you,” he said with a little smile.

“I don’t care if it’s big or small. You let me know and I’ll find a way to take care of it. We’re in this together. You can lean on me, Julian.”

He paused for a moment before glancing up at him again. “I’m still not sure how I feel about you calling me that,” he teased.

“Should I stop?” Geralt asked.

“I don’t know; I like the way it sounds, but I was Jaskier to you first.” He shrugged.

Geralt nodded. “Sparingly then. I like Jaskier best anyway. It’s the name you chose.”

He kissed his cheek gently. “You’re so sweet to me,” he mumbled softly.

“Somebody has to be; you’ve missed out on a lot of sweetness. That toffee pudding for instance. I _will_ be putting it on the menu at the reception.”

He chuckled softly at that. “I doubt we’ll spend much time at the reception but I’m excited to try it,” he hummed.

“We don’t have to show up to the reception to have it. It’ll all be cooked ahead of time. We just slip into the kitchen, pack our supplies, and get out. Then it’s off into the great wide world, exploring Rivia and all the rest, just you, me, the horses, and a basket loaded with toffee pudding for forty.”

“I was actually hoping to spend our wedding night somewhere with a proper bed?” he said with a blush on his cheeks.

“We could stay the night at the estate, but I’m still stealing the puddings,” Geralt teased. Then, “I hope you blush like this at the altar. It suits you.”

“If you don’t cry when you see me I’m not saying 'I do,'” he teased lazily before growing a bit more serious. “I’ll be blushing at our wedding, I promise.”

“Trust me, I’ll be crying before you even enter the room,” Geralt said, just as seriously. “I could cry right now if I actually tried to picture it. But I won’t.”

Jaskier chuckled fondly and stole a kiss. “I can hardly wait to see you like that. Dressed to the nines, and as handsome as you were the day we met.”

“I was dressed like _shit_ when we met in that pub,” Geralt corrected, stealing his kiss back. He twirled one of Jaskier’s locks around his finger, grinning. “But you look nicer every day.”

“Oh no, you looked like a hot mess, but a breathtakingly hot mess,” he teased back lazily. “Just let me be sentimental, love.”

Geralt hummed and closed his eyes. “I _like_ when you’re sentimental.” How often had Jaskier called him that sweet name now? He was starting to get so used to it, it felt so right and natural. Once, it had been startling, exciting, but there was a different thrill now in knowing it meant so much more than it did the first time. Yes, he really did like the sentiment. It was sweet, just like all the rest of Jaskier.

“I’m actually upset because Vesemir wanted to burn the first copy of the letter … he probably has by now … ” he sighed.

“Oh.” It was all Geralt could say. He frowned, looking down at the top of Jaskier’s brown head and stroked his back comfortingly, glad at least that Jaskier was ready to talk about it. Vesemir was probably thinking the same thing he’d thought before the meeting, that it was nothing more than a prop, and Vesemir was too practical to listen to sentimentality at times.

“I understand why he’d take it... but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t want it,” he said softly. "I don't want to put you in danger of course, I just, it’s like a past that we could have had that we didn't—I know it seems ridiculous."

“It isn’t,” Geralt said. He knew what he’d robbed Jaskier of now better than before. The letter meant a great deal more than he’d ever expected. He looked up at the foliage overhead, thinking. Then at last, he said, “May I court you?” very quietly.

“What do you mean?” he asked gently as he looked up at him. He was blushing faintly as he spoke, and was clearly a little flustered. “You’re already marrying me.”

Geralt smiled shyly. “I know, but we did skip over a lot of what comes with it. You never got a proper courtship: no letters, no flowers, and only one proper date, really. It think it’d be nice, all the rest. I think you deserve to look back on those memories one day.”

Jaskier kissed his cheek gently. “I would love that, but you should prepare yourself to be wooed as well,” he teased as he settled back against his chest.

“I’m already wooed,” Geralt said, chuckling. “But I suppose I wouldn’t mind a few harmless window serenades at night.”

“Candle lit picnics, and sunrise rides as well,” he teased lazily.

“Dances in the town pub, visits to the valley … ”

“More nights like this,” he added before kissing him again.

Geralt stroked his cheek and couldn’t help smiling through it. “Hmm, it’s midday.”

“You know I can’t keep track of time around you,” he teased lazily.

“But then where would all this sunlight be coming from?” Geralt laughed.

“Oh shut up, this morning felt like a week,” he huffed.

Geralt smiled, but closed his eyes and said no more. They lay together in peaceful silence until the shadows on their faces began to shift with the arc of the sun. Geralt spent much of the time in a doze, like a cat caught in a sunbeam, the warmth of Jaskier pressed against him, and the coolness of the wind over the lake to keep the day from becoming too stifling.

Jaskier eventually fell asleep against him, even drooling on his shirt slightly while he slept.

Eskel eventually found them an hour or two before sunset. His horse was sweat soaked, and Eskel looked exhausted as well.

“Geralt—Lambert looked here ages ago, how did he miss you? That’s beside the point; you need to get home,” he said with a sigh.

Geralt opened his bleary eyes and sighed. “I thought he’d called off the search. You look like shit,” he mumbled drowsily. Knowing Lambert, he probably told everybody _but_ Eskel, just to fuck with him. He pitied the horse more, if he were honest.

“No shit, we’ve been looking everywhere for you two,” he grumbled as he walked his horse into the clearing a bit. “Wake him up, we need to go.”

“Keep your voice down.” Geralt carefully shifted out from under Jaskier before scooping him up in his arms. Let Jaskier have his rest. “Take the horses with you, I’ll walk him in. He’s had a rough time.”

Eskel sighed heavily, and walked towards the horses. “Will Roach just follow behind?” he asked as he grabbed Pegasus’s reins.

“Naturally. She’s Lyrian trained. Pegasus might, but I don’t know him well enough to make the call.”

“I’m taking the long way back,” he sighed as he started off.

Jaskier grumbled softly as he was moved but quickly settled against his chest again.

Geralt set off at a leisurely pace. The sun was low now, bathing everything in soft orange light. They’d managed to have the better half of a day all to themselves after all. There’s only be dinner next, then they could retire for the evening. If possible, he’d like to put Jaskier straight to bed and deal with the rest himself, cut him some slack with the whole affair. As master of the house, the duty fell more with him to greet guests and manage things—at least, that was how he intended to phrase it to Vesemir.

Jaskier woke up about halfway through, and peeked up at Geralt. His voice was rough when he spoke but still sweet. “Where are we?” he mumbled as his attention strayed from his lover.

“The back garden,” Geralt answered. “Go back to sleep; I’ll have you in bed in a minute.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” he said softly as he tried to move from his arms.

Geralt kept his grip, pulling Jaskier closer, more comfortably now that there was no risk of waking him. “I promised you wouldn’t walk today, remember? It’s not a long way; let me handle it, love.”

“I’m not going to let you face this alone,” he said with a huff as he settled back into his arms.

“Yes you are,” Geralt scolded, planting a kiss on his cheek. “If you try to confront Vesemir before I talk with him, I’m going to sleep in the study, so there. Don’t push.”

“I meant dinner, I’m not dealing with Vesemir,” he assured him. “Besides, I wouldn’t leave you alone if you just started to get your memories back, that’d be absurd.”

“Fine, you can come to dinner with me,” Geralt relented. “But I’m still carrying you in, so get comfy. This is the _one_ task nobody’s going to try and take from me. I’ve lived too pampered; I could use a decent workout. Nothing I’d rather carry anyway, keep my strength up.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine. Besides, being held like this gives me so many new opportunities,” he teased before wrapping his arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses.

Geralt smiled and let himself be attacked. “You’re so mushy,” he said, chuckling under a new barrage of kisses.

“Oh hush, you’re the one carrying me inside,” he teased before pulling him into a full kiss.

Geralt stumbled slightly, barely catching himself. “Mph! Careful, you’ll make me trip.”

“I figured it might help you with that strength training,” he teased with a little laugh. He let his thoughts linger in his happiness here, not letting them wander off to what lay inside the house.

“That’s an issue with focus. Don’t let it go to your head, but you make it hard to stand when you do that, let alone walk properly.”

He chuckled softly. “Kiss me again, this time you’ll see it coming.”

“So demanding,” Geralt chided. He stopped long enough to give Jaskier one good, slow kiss, then pulled his head back as far as he could. “Now let me walk; it’s only a few more steps to the terrace door.”

“Fine, fine, what excuse are we going with, by the way?” he asked as they continued along.

“No excuse; I’m telling it like it is. One of my staff got temperamental and pushed you too far when you were under a lot of stress.”

Jaskier frowned slightly and nodded. “This is going to be a fun dinner.” He sighed.

“If anyone says a word against you, I’m leaping over the table,” Geralt threatened. He carefully nudged open the door and closed it again behind.

“That would be a bad idea,” he said gently

Geralt huffed. "Then I'll just ensure they get the smallest desert. Sound better?"

“Much better. Are we finally trying that kiss worthy pudding?” he asked with a chuckle.

"I haven't given the recipe to the cook yet. Been too busy."

“Ah, maybe next time then, or we’ll just make it,” he offered.

“Now that,” Geralt said, setting Jaskier on his feet, “sounds like a fun afternoon.”

When they returned, they found Vesemir waiting for them in the foyer. He looked up from his chair in acknowledgement, then stood to greet them. His expression was shadowed with the remains of stress, but his smile was genuine. At any rate, he looked to be in better shape than Eskel. Geralt’s suspicions about Lambert were correct.

“Ah. Welcome back, Your Grace.” Vesemir bowed. “What good timing. The _box_ has arrived for you while you were out.”

“The box?” Jaskier asked, before glancing up at Geralt suspiciously. His thoughts were still cloudy from sleep but it sounded new.

Geralt gave him a subtle shrug.

“The box you sent for from home; the one of your old letters and tokens?” Vesemir looked pointedly at the people lounging around the room. New guests had arrived and were in and out between the foyer and library, chatting. Vesemir removed a paper from his pocket—the letter drafted that morning. “You expressed an interest at our last meeting in Novigrad in using them to help spark Lord Geralt’s memory.”

“Oh yes of course, all my drafts. I only had space for a few things in my bag. I’m so glad it arrived,” he said with a genuine smile before taking the letter. “I’ll hold on to this for the night. Thank you so much for letting me know.”

Vesemir nodded, a solemn look in his eyes. “I’m sorry … it took so long to arrive. My instructions were improperly directed. I’m adjusting to the new members of the household _staff_ at the moment, and I’ve found they aren’t quite like the ones I’m more familiar with. I’ll be sure to adjust my method moving forward.”

Jaskier couldn’t hide the fondness in his eyes. “It’s quite alright. We all have a lot of adjusting to do, it’s an interesting time for us all.”

Vesemir sighed. “I’m not sure _interesting_ is quite the best word, Your Grace.”

“I would have said 'difficult' but that felt disrespectful,” he teased, trying to ruffle the man’s feathers a bit, before taking Geralt’s arm.

“Don’t be afraid to speak your mind in my company.” Vesemir clapped his hands together. “Now. You’d better wash up and get ready for dinner before anyone actually notices you. Once the introductions start, you won’t have a moment to compose yourselves. I’d move quickly.” He pointed at the wet spot on Geralt’s vest in particular.

Jaskier glanced at it for a moment before looking up at Geralt, “Sorry love, happens sometimes.” He blushed slightly and lead them upstairs.

When they were out of earshot, Geralt wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder and said, “Your sleeping face was too sweet; I couldn’t bear to roll you off. You can make it up to me later.”

“I will, if we can survive dinner,” he said as he leaned against his side. “I should change.”

“We both need it. There’s still dirt on your back. Your knees too. People might talk,” Geralt teased. But at least this time, the rumors would be of another nature.

“These rumors would be far more realistic at least,” he teased before stepping off a bit as they approached the guest room. “I’ll come to your room once I finish?”

“I forgot you _had_ a room of your own,” Geralt commented, surprised that Jaskier had stopped.

“It’s basically an oversized closet at this point,” he teased as he let himself in. “I’ll be quick.”

“I’ll be changing.” Geralt left him with a chaste kiss.

Jaskier quickly changed into a doublet that was a similar burgundy to Geralt’s sheets and fixed his hair before hurrying off to Geralt’s door once again and knocking a few times.

“One moment,” Geralt called. “I’m dressing.”

“Do I really have to wait?” he called back.

“Oh.” In a moment the door was opened for him. “I thought you were Vesemir. Good, you can help me coordinate something to wear.” Geralt was in his smallclothes, a pair of dark trousers draped on his arm. He looked over Jaskier’s outfit, then cracked a grin. “You look nice in my colors,” he said.

“I figured you would like it,” he teased before walking over and looking through his wardrobe with him. “So, what do you want to wear tonight? I think you would look dashing in a vest.”

“A vest with no jacket? How bold of you.” Geralt joined him, tossing the trousers on the bed. “We could be cute and dress to match, make a statement.”

“I would like that,” he hummed. “Or you could wear blue for me?” he offered.

Geralt nodded his chin back at the pile of dirty clothes. “I think I only had the two blue shirts, and I can’t wear the one from last night again, considering what might’ve stained it.”

“Hmm, red it is then,” he amended. “It’ll look dashing on you anyways, the burgundy color against your hair, and the gold of your eyes. You’ll look rather regal.”

Geralt flushed a bit at the praise. “Gold eyes?” he repeated. He’d never thought of them that way. Jaskier made them sound striking.

“You never thought of them as golden? I could write pages about them, how they sparkle when you smile, how when joy reflects in them, they’re worth more than any jewel.” He rambled on with a slight blush.

“Oh, shut up. I’ll lose my composure if you go on like that.” Geralt tossed a shirt in Jaskier’s face, then turned around to get dressed, snatching one of the many red shirts that lined his wardrobe. If it helped hide the red of his cheeks, well, that was only secondary.

Jaskier chuckled fondly and set aside the shirt. “Can I fix your hair?” he asked gently after he straightened out his own.

As if he needed to ask. Geralt sat himself on the bed, resting his hands on Jaskier’s hips as he worked. “You really _do_ look nice,” he said, thumbing the fabric of Jaskier’s shirt appreciatively.

He smiled at that and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s forehead. “Thank you, love,” he hummed as he unwound the braid and set aside the ribbon.

“We should hurry down before Vesemir gets restless,” Geralt said, not really meaning a word of it as he wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist. The truth was that they’d skipped lunch and that left him hungry, and he wanted to show Jaskier off a little while he wore his colors.

Jaskier started to do his hair in a much more intricate way than he’d had it earlier. “Well, I can hurry or I can make your hair look nice, that’s up to you,” he teased.

“As long as your hands are in my hair, I’m not complaining.”

“I’ll make a habit of doing your hair then,” he teased as he continued. “That went much better than expected.”

Geralt, who’d closed his eyes at the touch, opened them again and looked up at Jaskier expectantly. “What did?” he asked.

“Coming back. I was expecting Vesemir to be angry, really angry actually.”

“He’s a crotchety old man, but he has his moments. I think he understood he’d crossed a line.”

“It’s a welcomed surprise,” he said as he finished styling and tied off the main braid with his ribbon.

Geralt stood and went to look at his reflection. He blinked, turning his head to admire Jaskier’s work. “How did you do this?” he asked. He knew fuck all about hair and the braids left an impression. He looked dignified, if a tad dressier than usual.

“I used to help with my mom’s hair when I was little, I never forgot how to do most of it,” he said as he moved to his side. “It looks nice right?”

Geralt snuck an arm around Jaskier’s shoulder and smiled at their reflections. “Let’s go show it off,” he suggested mischievously.

He kissed his cheek gently, and leaned into him. “After you, my lord,” he teased back.

Geralt tutted and wagged a finger in play. “And forget my manners? An earl never goes before a duke. After _you,_ Your Grace.”

Jaskier chuckled softly and took his hand before leading them out. “You’re cute like this,” he teased.

Geralt was leaning back as they walked. “That’s not all that’s cute,” he said, looking up from Jaskier’s backside with a grin.

“When you’re playful? I think it’s adorable,” he teased before looking back at him and rolling his eyes. “I figured you’d be tired of looking at that by now.”

“Not a bit,” he replied, giving his bottom at humorous pat. “Had to get it out of my system. We promised to be on our best behaviour, after all.”

“You’ll have it to yourself after this is over,” he teased as he took his arm in a more formal way.

Geralt placed his hand over Jaskier’s once more and quickened their pace. “Hm, let’s eat quickly then.”

The dinner had gone well for establishing their sorry story, and the rumors spread like wildfire, reaching the borders of Rivia within a matter of days. Things were fine, but there was such a lot of work involved. Besides putting on airs for the ever increasing number of house guests, there were wedding details that needed finalizing. They’d been made before—long before the whole ordeal—but there were all the little problems that were to be expected: the baron of such-and-so brought two guests along instead of one, there was squabbling between rival families when backs were turned, not to mention the trouble with the kitchen, the overworked staff, and arranging the fine details of flowers and venue to fit the change in location.

It was all too much for the two of them, and with hardly a waking moment to simply enjoy each other’s company. Everything came to a head the evening before the wedding when Jaskier finally snapped, stretched too thin between entertaining guests and trying to manage an unfamiliar house. He found Geralt in the back garden, going over details with his head landscaper and florist for the arrangements to be cut in the morning.

“Yes, these colors will be just right. And the buttercups? Were we able to find some? We don’t need many, just enough for—”

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried, bumping up behind him. He rested his head between Geralt’s shoulder blades and wrapped his arms around his middle. “Geralt, I’ve finally had it. I can’t deal with one single thing more. I’m tired of it.”

Geralt turned as best he could to get a glimpse of him. He angled his head back and dismissed the others with an apologetic smile before focusing on Jaskier once more. “Are you alright?” he asked, voice gentle.

Jaskier hugged him a bit tighter and lingered in the feeling of holding him. He was overwhelmed and overworked, and all he wanted was space to breathe, and enjoy time with his lover.

“No,” he mumbled into the back of his shirt as he settled against him. “I’m exhausted by this, I just want to be with you.”

“Are you saying you want to escape?” Geralt asked. “I told you to let me know when you needed to steal away. Is that what you need right now?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” he said before moving to rest his head on his shoulder. “I want to go sing, or dance, or just enjoy something like we used to in the city.”

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s and craned to kiss his head. “Then I think it’s time I gave you a _proper_ introduction to the Rivian people,” he replied.

“Let’s go get changed then, I don’t want to be Julian tonight,” he teased before moving off of him.

“Will you be Jaskier, or should I call you by another name?” Geralt asked, pulling him toward the house.

“Jaskier is fine,” he hummed as he hurried after him. “And what about you? Just Geralt?” he teased as the hurried upstairs.

Geralt paused midway on the staircase. He frowned thoughtfully. “No, I’m too well known—we’d be caught in a minute,” he muttered, speaking mostly to himself. Then he brightened. “Call me Roger, or Eric. There are plenty of people by those names. They’re traditional to the region.”

“Eric it is,” he said before grabbing his hand and hurrying him along. He looked happier than he had all week, bright eyed, and he had a smile so wide it might split his face. “Come on love, I don’t want to wait much longer.”

Geralt tugged him back towards his room before Jaskier could even consider the guest room. “We’ll dress in my plain clothes and sneak out in disguise. I’ve still got my travelling cloaks. Do you think any of the townspeople will recognize you?”

“No, we never got the chance to visit. And your pants won’t fit me,” he pointed out as he followed him into their room.

“Then wear the pair that stands out the least.”

Geralt tugged a couple nondescript cloaks out of his wardrobe and tossed one to Jaskier. He shed his clothes like it was a race and stepped into the comfort of his own black linen and leather with a sigh. He’d been wearing fine clothes for too long. He pulled the cloak around his shoulders and drew the hood low, then turned to Jaskier for approval. “Can you see any distinguishing features?” he asked.

“Nothing that you couldn’t find on a strong farm boy,” he teased as he pulled on one of Geralt’s shirts and a pair of pants that he’d left in the room a few nights ago. “Ready? We should probably walk into town.”

“Right … most locals wouldn’t need to ride a horse to the pub.” He sounded only a little disappointed to exclude Roach from their adventure, but she’d be bored waiting outside for them. “And I _do_ mean to take you to a pub. They’ll be celebrating, I’m sure. Lots of merchants live in the area, and the trade business will give them something to toast.”

“That sounds perfect, and if they’re celebrating there’s sure to be music too,” he said as he pulled on his cloak. “Ready now?” he asked as he glanced up at him.

Geralt nodded. “Let’s sneak out the back.”

He guided Jaskier to the back steps. It was no trouble avoiding the nobles—it was the servants they had to worry about. After more than a month at home, he’d come to recognize the rhythm of the house and most of their coming and going, but there was always someone about. They had to pause and wait more than once for someone to cross an empty corridor.

“Once we’re in the garden, we’ll be home free,” Geralt whispered, eyeing the back door. They could easily hide among the hedges and escape over the hill.

Jaskier nodded and took his hand. “Well, we’re almost there, we just can’t blow our cover,” he said with a grin, before turning his attention to the door.

To both of their surprise, the door creaked open to reveal Vesemir making his way inside. He met Geralt’s eyes almost immediately and made his way over to them. “What are you two up to?”

Geralt lowered his head and backed up slightly, bumping Jaskier. “Nothing,” he said.

“You already look guilty.” He looked them over again before stepping back a bit. “Just be home before midnight; you need to rest tonight,” he said before giving them both a slight smile. “Go have fun, you deserve it.”

Geralt lifted his head once more, eyes wide, then he broke out in a grin. “No promises,” he said, taking Jaskier’s hand and running. He laughed over Vesemir’s objections as they hurried into the fading evening light.

Jaskier laughed with him and hurried them out onto the road. “He’s sweet when you get to know him, I guess.” He chuckled fondly as he slowed them to a walk again.

“I suppose,” Geralt agreed. It was hard to think of Vesemir as sweet. Considerate, maybe, but he reserved sweet for another. Geralt nuzzled up against Jaskier’s cheek and gave it an affectionate kiss. “Not as sweet as _you_ , though.”

“That’s hardly a contest,” he teased before pulling him into a full kiss. “I love you,” he hummed as he pulled away.

Geralt pulled him back, not quite finished. He cradled Jaskier’s cheek in his free hand, infinitely fond as he looked into his eyes. “I loved you first,” he said, giving Jaskier another long kiss, face flushed already beneath his hood.

Jaskier pulled away for a moment and grinned up at him. “Maybe, but I gave you my heart that first day we spent together,” he said warmly before taking his hand and leading them off again.

“Implying I didn’t?” Geralt chuckled. He turned their hands, lacing their fingers together. For a minute, he simply stared at Jaskier, allowing him to guide their path, and when he’d finally had his fill of the sight of him, he turned his eyes forward again. “I can’t wait until tomorrow,” he said, looking out at the sun as if he could make the earth turn faster by will alone.

“I’m going to be a nervous wreck until I see you at the end of that aisle,” he said with a chuckle. “I can’t wait to be yours, and to show the whole world how much I love you.”

“Aw, afraid I’ll run off without you?” he teased. He gave Jaskier’s hand another firm squeeze and brought it up to his lips. No chance of that.

“Don’t joke about that,” he said as he pouted back at him. “I’m just so excited—I want everything to be perfect.”

“As long as you’re there under that arch with me, it will be.”

They went walking awhile longer until the town’s lights grew brighter and the ruckus of the merry pub could be heard clearly in the night. Geralt picked up the pace, excited. “I used to come here all the time before setting off on any trips abroad,” he said.

“As Geralt or as Eric?” he asked as they stepped into the main square of the town.

Geralt shushed him, casting a cautious glance around the square. “As Geralt, obviously,” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that name. It’ll spoil the fun.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckled before moving closer to him. “Let’s get inside then, I’m excited to have a proper night out again,” he initiated as he started them off again

Geralt opened the pub door and held it for him. The noise was incredibly loud and wild music drifted out. As they entered, Geralt leaned in to be heard above the noise. “Lyria may boast many refined musicians, but nowhere beats Rivia for a good country dance!”

As if in answer to his observation, a resounding cheer waved through the crowd. It was a busy night! Every last nose was red, and it was a drunken, jolly throng all around.

“Oh really? I never realized Rivians prided themselves on dancing,” Jaskier chuckled as he looked up at Geralt. “Care to show me? Or should we have dinner first?” he hummed after surveying the pub.

Geralt snatched up his waist and hand suddenly with a wicked grin. “The only way you’d possibly make it to the bar and place an order in a crowd like this would be to dance across. Mind your feet!” he cheered, skipping into the eclectic crowd with a loud whoop, pulling Jaskier right along with him.

A giggle bubbled up in Jaskier and he held onto Geralt as they spun and skipped across the pub. “We should have come here ages ago,” he insisted as he followed his lead

“I would’ve taken you if you’d agreed to elope,” Geralt said. He gave another joyful burst of laughter, lifting Jaskier up in time to the song to avoid bumping into another equally enthusiastic pair. “No stuffy waltzes _here_. Now watch carefully. The circle’s almost complete; don’t get caught in it or we’ll have to go all the way around again to get to the bar.”

“As tempting as it sounds, I want a drink first,” he said as he held onto him. “Another spin and a dip should get us out to the bar,” he offered with a laugh as his feet hit the ground again.

Geralt spun them and dipped Jaskier right in front of the bar, shaking his head. “Honestly, that last bit was just for show, wasn’t it?” he teased. He pulled Jaskier back to his feet and nudged him toward an empty spot. He raised a hand to flag down the proprietor.

“You were supposed to kiss me,” he teased as he sat in a stool nearby and pulled Geralt along beside him.

Geralt blushed as he wriggled in, squished on all sides. “Oh,” he said. “I’ll, uh—I’ll do that next time.” Then he cleared his throat and turned to face the counter. “You know, you still owe me a pub dinner from Novigrad.”

“I thought you still owed me?” he teased lazily. “We were supposed to be on a date when you got stuck in the tournament,” he reminded as the barkeep walked over to them.

“What would you two like?”

“I’ll have the rabbit, house ale, and whatever this one wants,” he said, thumbing at Jaskier.

Jaskier swatted his arm at that, before responding. “I’ll have the same thing,” he said with a smile before the barkeep hurried off. “You’re an ass.”

Geralt leaned against the bard, having found his composure again. “Hey, keep a mild tongue or I really _will_ foot you the bill. I’ll bet you don’t even have a purse on you.” He reached smugly into his pocket and dangled a small pouch in front of Jaskier’s nose, swinging it gently from side to side.

Jaskier snatched it from him. “I do now,” he teased before tossing it back. “And my tongue is entirely mild; you’ve made me scream far worse.”

“Really? I might have to taste it, just to make sure.” Geralt leaned forward, playing suave, when a misplaced elbow pushed him bodily up against Jaskier, ruining the moment. Geralt nearly lost his footing, bracing with his hands in Jaskier’s cloak until he could pull himself upright. “For fuck’s sake,” he grumbled. “Can’t a man seduce his own husband in peace?”

Jaskier chuckled softly and pulled him into a kiss. “Fiancé until tomorrow,” he reminded as he pulled away. “And if you wanted peace, you should have stayed home, this is supposed to be fun.”

“It is fun. Now, anyway.” Geralt smiled going back in for another kiss. “Lots of fun,” he added, chuckling.

He grinned back at him. “You’re right,” he hummed before grabbing him by his hood and dragging him into a deep kiss. “But it’ll be more fun later tonight.”

Geralt’s heart fluttered in his chest. “You have no idea how good you sound when you do that,” he whispered, licking his lips.

“I’m sure I’ll find out,” he chuckled as their dinner arrived.

They ate together at the crowded bar, watching the other folks dance and chat, listening in on conversations. Geralt stopped midway through his ale and shook his head. “Nothing like a home brew,” he said, raising it up to toast the house quietly. “I haven’t had an ale like that in three years.”

“I prefer wine, but it’s nice,” he agreed before taking a drink from his tankard. “This is what home tastes like to you.”

“Lyrians make good wine; our exports shape our tastes, I’d say.”

Geralt drained the rest of his mug before sliding it across the bar and calling for another. He peeked at Jaskier lifting his head slightly to see from under his hood. Then he eyed the band in the corner of the room. “Tell me what you think of them,” he asked.

“They aren’t bad for what they play,” he said with a little hum, as he tried to listen to the music. “It’s simple music, the beat is steady and you can sing to it which makes it a good dancing song. They also know their audience which is just as important as their talent.”

Geralt lifted a brow and grinned. “Bet you could beat them though,” he said, offering a wink. Jaskier may have played slow, gentle music, but Jaskier himself was far too energetic for that to be the end of it. Geralt could easily imagine him playing something fast and wild to fill up a dance floor and move the mob.

“Oh, easily, but I’m here for you, not the crowds,” he teased lazily before finishing his drink. “Tell me when you want to go dance again? I’m ready.”

Geralt knocked back his ale and sprang to his feet. He bowed before Jaskier and offered him a hand. “Shall we, Your Grace?” he asked with mocking dignity.

He took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “We shall, my lord,” he teased before getting up and immediately moving into his space.

Geralt counted the steps, swaying on his feet until there was a break in the circle, then he and Jaskier ducked into it. The song was just as lively as before, but it had a different pace. Two forward, one step back, twirl forward, and change direction. It was a dizzying dance, but one that Geralt was quite familiar with.

“This is a popular wedding dance here,” he said, catching Jaskier on another turn. “Because the direction changes back and forth, they say it’s a dance of equality—there’s no true lead. Good practice for tomorrow, don’t you think?”

“Perfect practice,” he agreed, before kissing his cheek as they parted. “Our first dance is a waltz though,” he reminded him as the dance continued along.

Geralt hummed and lead him into an empty spot in the middle of the floor where they might not get swept away by the other dancers. Then, in the midst of the jaunty tune, he changed their hands and began to guide Jaskier in a waltz. It was faster than the traditional pace, keeping time with the song, but the steps were right. He leaned his head back smugly.

“Did you think I’d forget how it’s done?” he asked.

“I wasn’t entirely sure how much you’d remember,” he said gently as he leaned forwards and rested his head against his shoulder. His heart fluttered in his chest and he was blushing. “You’re a wonderful dancer,” he said warmly as they continued.

Geralt was quiet a moment, just holding him as they moved around the small space. When he spoke again, it was difficult to hear over the roar of the pub, though things had gotten quieter as curiosity grew, eyes turning toward the cloaked couple in the center of the floor.

“I … had dreams of my wedding day when I was small. I practiced dancing in my room,” he said.

Jaskier smiled at him and raised a hand to his cheek as he imagined a sweet little Geralt trying to master the steps. “It paid off. Besides, I spent most of my life dreaming about you, and chasing after your heart. I love you so much.”

Geralt hid his face against Jaskier’s neck. “You’ve got to stop looking at me like that and saying those kinds of things,” he mumbled, heart racing.

“I can’t help it, not when you make me feel like this,” he said softly as he held him a little more firmly. “You make my heart race, and you make me smile more than I ever have in my life. I love you.”

“There you go again.” Geralt’s ears were burning and his heart was fit to burst from his chest. It was too much. “Keep talking and we’re going to end up making a scene,” he mumbled. But from the eyes around them, it seemed that ship had already sailed.

“That’s too bad,” he teased before kissing his cheek. His hood had been down for a while now, but Geralt’s was still on, making them an interesting looking pair. “It’s the night before we get married, I don’t care how many people watch us dance.”

Geralt mouthed at Jaskier’s neck, intoxicated by Jaskier’s affectionate confessions. “I wasn’t talking about the dancing,” he whispered.

He blushed slightly at that. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured back gently as the music slowed.

Geralt followed Jaskier’s lead until he got the proper use of his legs once more. All the endearments left him weak in the knees. It was love beyond any man’s deserving, and every time that word left Jaskier’s lips, he wanted to chase it. Thankfully, Jaskier became more occupied with the dance than the talking, and Geralt’s heart slowed to a healthier pace. He took a deep breath and sighed, resting his cheek against Jaskier’s, eyes closed.

“I can’t wait to dance with you again,” he said, already looking forward to it. The next time would be at their wedding. He wouldn’t sleep a wink.

“Don’t think about that now,” Jaskier said gently. “I just want you here in this moment with me. Everything feels right right now, and I just want to hold on to that feeling.”

“I’m here,” Geralt assured him, though he felt as if he were floating somewhere high above. His feet didn’t truly touch the floor, he was certain. All he could feel was the warmth of Jaskier in his arms.

“Are you sure? Hold on let me pull you back into this moment,” he teased before dipping him, and kissing him while he had him in his arms.

Geralt’s stomach swooped with the sudden movement and Jaskier’s kiss tickled his neck, both making him burst out in a bout of unrestrained laughter and intermittent giggles. “Don’t drop me!” he cried, gripping Jaskier’s shoulders tightly. When he opened his eyes, the light of the pub was bright and his hair was left dangling.

His hood had fallen.

“I’m not going to drop you,” Jaskier said as laughter overtook him, and he pulled them back to their feet. He kissed him again before he realized their mistake.

“Geralt your hood,” he mumbled to him as he pulled away from the kiss.

Geralt reached for it but was startled stiff by a thunderous applause. The patrons cheered and raised their glasses, and those closest on the dance floor had stopped to gather around and offer their congratulations.

“Lord Eskalott!” one woman cried. “It’s wonderful to have you home again!”

Her partner clapped a hand on his back with a grin. “Congratulations on tomorrow’s big affair! Is this the lucky man of the hour?”

Geralt’s face was beet red as he grabbed at Jaskier, trying not to be torn out of his arms by the excited locals. Overwhelmed so suddenly, he'd lost his tongue.

“I am,” Jaskier said with a little laugh. “We managed to escape the manor one last time before the wedding, it’s far more fun here than it is there,” he assured them as he let go of Geralt and took his hand instead. “I love this place, I’m more than happy to call it home now.”

“Geralt, you bastard!” the barman called, leaning up against the counter and waving his towel.

Geralt smiled uncertainly and waved. “Good to see you, Barrow.”

“Take this coin back before I throw you out! It’s your wedding day tomorrow—your money’s no good here tonight!”

Geralt fumbled with his free hand to catch the coin tossed over the crowd. With a meek laugh he slipped it into his pocket. He then turned to Jaskier and nodded at the bar. “Told you they’d recognize me,” he said.

“Oh, I had no doubts about that. You’re hard to forget,” he teased as he leaned into his side. “You’re like a man out of a myth.”

Geralt’s expression of mortification was only made worse by the sighs and laughs from those nearest to hear. He cleared his throat and started ushering Jaskier back to the safety of the bar, tugging his hood over his face again as he did. When they sat, he wrapped Jaskier against his chest, hiding with his forehead to Jaskier’s shoulder, riding out the worst of the handshakes and congratulations, the compliments, and the friendly teasing. He truly did not handle crowds well.

Jaskier gently ran his fingers through his hair and turned his attention back to the crowd for a moment. “He’s still a little shy,” he teased lazily before looking back at Geralt. “Are you alright, love?” he asked gently.

“Too much to take in,” he mumbled.

Vesemir would have loved his reaction: perfect for a recovering amnesiac to be overwhelmed by a crowd of people who knew him so well, each one clamoring for his attention at once. But Geralt wasn’t thinking of that at all. What he was thinking was that Jaskier’s love alone was powerful enough to stop him in his tracks; being welcomed home by his friends—by his people, all cheering and happy, all of them well and rosy-faced was too much. He was so glad to see them so safe and contented up close, but to see them so happy for _him_ after all his wandering …

“Too much,” he repeated, the first tear rubbing against Jaskier’s cloak. He could not say for sure what his reason for crying was. Relief? Joy? And there was shame, too, for playing the fool so long. He couldn’t process it.

“Do you want to go?” Jaskier asked gently as he leaned back into his chest. Worry was clear in his voice, and he kept a hand in his hair in an attempt at settling him. “I don’t mind, as long as I’m with you.”

Geralt hesitated, his grip shaking against Jaskier’s cloak, then, slowly, he nodded without a word.

“Okay, I’ll make our excuses, and we’ll be off,” he assured him as he moved from his arms to thank the band and the bartender for their work, and heaping praise onto their citizens as well.

He returned to Geralt quickly and took his hand in his. “Let’s be off, love. Maybe to the lakeside? Somewhere quiet.”

“Just out. Don’t care where,” Geralt croaked, voice uneven. He kept his hood low and followed Jaskier out of the pub, keeping close to his side.

Jaskier lead them out of town quickly and let them walk for a little while before he spoke up. “Are you feeling any better, or is it still overwhelming?” he asked gently as he looked back at him.

Geralt shook his head. Then, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut the evening short … ”

“It’s alright love,” he insisted as he stopped them. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist and held him close. “I’m glad you told me, I don’t like seeing you upset.”

That broke Geralt. He pulled Jaskier tighter against him and let out a raspy sob. “You call me that so easily,” he said, the words sticking in his throat. His shoulders shook as he tried to control himself, tried to keep from breaking the rest of the way.

He rubbed his back gently and pulled away his hood to run his hand through his hair. “Because I love you,” he said gently. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand...” he admitted as he held him.

“I know you do. And I love you, but—!” Another painful sob tore at his throat. “All of that love at once from so many people I let down. It was easier when it was only you. I could believe just that much, but I’ve done nothing to earn it. I’ve done the opposite. I thought I would have lost their love. I didn’t abandon only you.”

Jaskier rested against him and closed his eyes. “Take a breath,” he said softly as he listened. “They missed you, they’re happy to have you home. I know it’s easier to deal with anger rather than love when you think it’s what you deserve, but they get to choose how they react. They’re welcoming you with open arms, whether you think you deserve it or not.”

Geralt turned his head to press it to Jaskier’s cheek, not ready to look at him, but seeking the comfort of his touch. “When you first called me love that night in Novigrad, I thought my heart would stop. I was so tired, so lonely and strung out on failed love, I thought I might never know a taste of something true. And yet you love me so earnestly—so _completely._ Every time I hear it, I can’t help but think that I don’t deserve it, yet I want it so terribly, it aches. The very idea that you _choose_ me after everything … I can’t even begin to comprehend it. I don’t know how to react to it, but I want to hear it again and again, and I feel so selfish for it.”

“You aren’t selfish for being happy,” he said gently, letting him take his time to process. “You’ve made me happier than I’ve ever been before, you must know that by now. You can’t love someone, really love someone, selfishly.”

“But don’t I? I made you come to Rivia. I asked you to go along with this stupid plan instead of facing things head on. And even now, I’m asking you to come out into the middle of the empty road because I couldn’t finish our first dance together. And on top of it all, I'm asking you to comfort me.”

“You also made me feel loved for the first time in my life. You held me close as I faced my greatest struggle. You were the first person to choose me, I want to support you,” he insisted.

“ … I was supposed to support _you,”_ Geralt said. But Jaskier had worn him down. He was out of arguments and too tired to think of more.

“You did. Now it’s my turn,” he said gently, before kissing his cheek.

Geralt’s grip tightened for the barest moment. “I don’t know how to let you.”

“That’s okay, just don’t push me away,” he said gently.

Geralt exhaled something resembling a laugh. “I don’t know how to do that either,” he replied. He never wanted to learn how to either. He wanted to keep his love right there with him, always.

Jaskier made him meet his eyes. “All you need to do is trust me, and be honest with me,” he said. “And I know you can do that.”

Geralt nodded. “I do. I can do that.”

"Good. Now, how can I help you?" he asked gently.

He thought a moment. “Take me home. I just want to be someplace quiet with you.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and kissed his cheek before pulling away. “I think we can manage that.”

By the time they came to the edge of the back garden, Geralt was feeling more himself again. The warmth of Jaskier’s hand in his was settling, and his gentle grip reassured him better than all his words together. The moon was bright and high, nearly full, and it cast a silver light over the land, guiding them home. Now that he was no longer curled in on himself, hiding in his hood, Geralt could appreciate the beauty of the moment and he began walking slower, dawdling. He slowed more and more until Jaskier was just ahead and could feel the lag from Geralt’s hand.

Jaskier paused and looked back at him. Worry still lingered in his expression but it faded as he looked over Geralt. It had been a good night, and a hard one at the same time, but he didn’t mind. He would weather anything as long as he had Geralt.

“Is everything alright, love?” he asked gently as he stepped towards him.

Geralt tilted his head and looked innocently at Jaskier, though that telling spark had lit up in his eyes once more. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

Jaskier smiled faintly, and stepped ever closer. “Hear what?” he hummed back. He had relaxed by then, Geralt’s good mood had him thoroughly settled.

Geralt shushed him and took him by the waist, eyes roaming the empty space, searching. “Listen. I think it’s coming from the garden,” he whispered.

Jaskier took his free hand in his. “I can’t hear it,” he teased, playing along as he leaned into Geralt a bit.

“Oh, I definitely hear something.” Geralt pulled Jaskier along, taking him into the garden. There was a small hedge maze nearby. As a small boy, Geralt had run in and out of it, and he knew the trails by heart. He lead Jaskier toward the large ring in the center, where the plain hedges were spotted with climbing roses.

“There! Can you hear it?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier chuckled fondly at that. “Love I think you might be hearing things,” he teased as he moved into his arms.

“I know I am; I only thought you might too. You see … ” Geralt took him by the waist once more and raised their hands, smiling. “I hear music whenever I’m with you.”

He kissed his cheek gently. “I hear music everywhere else. But when I’m with you it all goes quiet, just my heart in my chest beating,” he said warmly before starting the steps of their waltz.

Geralt hummed. “I’m willing to bet your heart beats in three-quarter time,” he replied. “You have a natural sense of rhythm. You fell into step quickly back in the pub. I’d wanted to tell you then, but … the point is, I’m glad you can dance. Another thing we can share.”

“You’re so sweet to me, I’m glad to have such an incredible partner,” he said warmly as he grinned up at Geralt. “In dance and in life, I’m so happy to be yours.”

Geralt chuckled and said, “You’re so cheesy, I want to put you on a charcuterie board and eat you up.”

“We’re getting married tomorrow, I figured you would be used to it by now,” he chuckled.

“I’m more than used to it—I adore it.”

Geralt spun Jaskier around and wrapped his arms in front of him, pulling him back against his chest. “So tomorrow,” he said.

“Yes, tomorrow,” Jaskier hummed before stealing a kiss. “I can hardly wait, I’m tempted to marry you now, with the moon as our priest, and the stars as our witness.”

“We can, if you like. I’d marry you a hundred times over,” Geralt teased. “But now, I have some news for you.” In a more serious tone, he continued. “You’ll have to sneak back into the guest room tonight so they can fetch you in the morning. We won’t see much of each other before the ceremony. You know the traditions.”

“I figured as much, but I want to spend most of my night with you,” he said with a little smile. “I’ll be sure to get back in my room before they fetch us, of course.”

“I mean to steal as much time as possible between now and then to make up for it. I still want to be surprised when I see you, but I don’t have a lot of patience where you’re concerned. I’ll miss you the moment you leave the room.”

He kissed his cheek gently. “I’ll be sure to surprise you; you haven’t seen my outfit for the wedding yet,” he reminded.

“You look good in everything. And nothing,” Geralt teased, turning Jaskier to give him a proper kiss.

He kissed him back eagerly and pulled him closer. “You’re sweet,” he teased once he pulled away.

“So you keep telling me.” Geralt chuckled and pulled him back again, hugging him with a sigh. “I suppose we ought to go back inside soon. It’s starting to get cold.”

“I suppose so,” he sighed softly as he leaned against him. “I guess I’ll have to start planning my route to the guest room.”

Geralt held him tighter. “You could … always plan it later tonight when everyone’s gone to sleep,” he suggested.

“Hmm, you might be on to something,” he teased as he leaned against his chest.

“It’ll be easier to sneak out if there’s nobody around to catch you,” he went on. “We’d get some extra time together. After all, we weren’t at the pub for very long. Should be plenty of time.” It was an exaggeration, but he hoped to make a compelling argument.

“Well, if you insist. Besides, I’m sure you plan to occupy that time,” he hummed lazily once Geralt finished chattering.

"I do. It's been occupying much of my attention tonight."

“Let’s get inside then. Like you said: it’s starting to get cold.”

Geralt wrapped his cloak around Jaskier, doubling up the effort to keep him warm as they walked toward the back terrace. The lights in the corridor had not yet been put out and it made the climb up to the master bedroom much easier than he’d anticipated. When they reached the top landing, he could truly feel the exhaustion catching up and his boots dragged heavily on the floor. He opened the door for Jaskier before unceremoniously dumping his cloak to one side.

Jaskier sat on his bed and pulled off his boots before laying back with a grin. “I still can’t believe tomorrow we’ll be married,” he said warmly as he stared at the ceiling. “I’ve been dreaming of this for ages, it’s surreal that it’s actually happening.”

Geralt smiled and joined him, tossing his own boots somewhere beside his dresser. “Hopefully there was enough time to get all the details right. If not, we can always try again later,” he suggested.

“It’ll be perfect, it’s with you,” he said gently, before looking over at him with a grin. “And if we want to do it over again we will.”

“I know you say it’ll be perfect, but I do want it to _be_ perfect for you. I want it to live up to your expectations. And I meant it when I said I would marry you a hundred times.”

Then, Geralt seemed to remember something. He leaned back on the pillows and smirked up at Jaskier, arms folded behind his head. “That reminds me; I believe you owed me one hundred kisses from that tavern fight in Novigrad. How many do you think we’ve shared since then? Fifty? I don’t know if I’ve been paid my dues.”

“Well, I can give you the rest all at once, or you can ask for them as you’d like them.” He hummed before kissing his cheek. “There’s only 49 left now,” he teased as he relaxed beside him.

“I prefer to not keep count; that way I can just keep bugging you over and over again,” Geralt replied. He chuckled and pulled Jaskier into his arms. “Besides, I don’t _know_ if it’s fifty. Don't try and stiff me, cheapskate.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t dare. Besides, I think I’ll be paying interest on that for the rest of my life anyways,” he teased before kissing him again.

“Hmm, my interest rates are high,” Geralt teased, running a hand down his back.

“Incredibly high,” Jaskier teased as he rested his head on his chest.

Geralt closed his eyes, just stroking his back comfortably. “I think you might need to supplement your payments with extra hours of lying in bed in the morning, some horseback rides through the country, maybe a fishing trip or two.”

“As long as I can bring my lute along for these fishing trips, I’ll be more than happy to do that,” he chuckled lazily. “Maybe a trip to the family lodge is in order too.”

“I think I remember you saying something about that, and a bit of musical accompaniment would make the quiet morning more lively—as long as you don’t play anything too wild and scare off the fish.” Geralt sighed, then said, “I _do_ miss hearing your music. It’s been so long.”

“When we’re alone again I’ll play,” he said gently. “That’s not for the court. They don’t deserve to hear it.”

“Fuck them,” Geralt agreed.

It was a shame there were so many peers staying with them at the moment. Aside from the general unpleasantness of having strangers in his home, there was the additional stress of putting on airs to accommodate them, and to keep up their ruse. He seethed beneath his skin, knowing who these people were and what things they said about Jaskier. He did not wish to host them so comfortably. None of them were worth even an accidental twang of a string. Not one.

“As soon as the ceremony is over we’ll run away from them all,” he said gently. His voice was starting to trail off as he spoke as the day caught up to him.

Geralt only hummed in response, equally tired. Jaskier was warm and the weight of him was calming, steady breath hypnotic. It had been a long, busy day—busy _month,_ really. They’d been strung out for much too long. Falling asleep each night had been the easiest thing to do. For almost a full minute, Geralt debated picking Jaskier up and carrying him back to his own room, but he was asleep before he could finish the thought.

* * *

Jaskier woke up first the next morning. The sun had just barely finished its ascent, and light cut across the room. It would have been a peaceful morning, and it was while Jaskier slowly came to his senses. All that was on his mind was Geralt, and the fact that he was marrying him so soon, and that alone pulled him from his sleepy thoughts.

“Geralt, Geralt get up,” he insisted, even though exhaustion lingered on his tongue.

Geralt groaned and buried his face deeper into his pillow, still on the edge of sleep.

“Love, I want to kiss you one last time before we’re married,” he said as he nudged him again.

“Hm?” Geralt turned his head, blinking up at him with bleary eyes. Then Jaskier’s presence finally registered and he cracked a sleepy smile. “Good morning,” he mumbled. “What’d you say?”

“Good morning,” he hummed back with a soft smile. “I said, I want to kiss you one last time before we’re married,” he said warmly.

Geralt closed his eyes as he reached up to wrap his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Before we’re married … _today_ … ” he sighed rapturously.

“I can hardly wait,” he said gently as he settled against his chest.

“Wait, get back up here,” Geralt complained. “You haven’t kissed me yet.”

“You closed your eyes and decided to be sweet, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk or not,” he teased before sitting up again.

“Give me a second—I just woke up. My mouth and brain aren’t working yet.”

“Alright, alright, we just don’t have very long,” he reminded him gently.

Geralt chuckled and tugged him closer. “Then hurry up and kiss me before they find you’re missing.”

Jaskier grinned back at him and cupped his cheek in his hand before gently kissing him.

Geralt hummed and closed his eyes again as he kissed back. When they parted, he crushed Jaskier in one last hug. “I can’t believe that in only a few hours’ time I’ll be calling you my husband.” He was wide awake now, heart hammering in his chest uncontrollably.

“I can hardly wait,” he said softly before stealing another kiss and moving from his side. “I love you,” he added as he started for the door.

“I love you too,” Geralt called. He leaned up on his elbow to watch him go. Oh, that the time would fly!

Jaskier glanced back at him with a fond look in his eyes before returning to his room to get ready.

Geralt started his morning as quickly as possible. He didn’t wait for the maids to carry up the water for his bath, but went to fetch it himself. He couldn’t sit still one moment!

“Dear lords above, he’s at it again,” one of the maids whispered as he practically _skipped_ past her in the hall.

“You stop that. It’s his _wedding_ day; let him hurry along,” the other replied. In truth, his odd habits had endeared himself to his staff once Jaskier had arrived to sooth the more manic aspect behind them. He’d been in a lighter mood since, and now he was nearly giddy. “Better get a move on before he makes his own breakfast. Can’t have the company seeing him fetching and carrying.”

After his bath, the staff made sure to anticipate his needs lest he come up bumbling in front of the waking guests by trying to help himself. His story had them sympathetic, and they all wished to do their very best for him that day of all days. They pressed his clothes and polished his best boots, made everything ready in anticipation of the afternoon’s grand event. They made absolutely sure that one servant was posted at the door of any room where he made ready just in case anything was needed. They traded off hourly, and the first watchman reported with a delirious joy that the lord had been _singing_ during his bath. A traditional Rivian feasting song! They’d not heard him singing since he’d been away, and the evidence of memory made them hopeful.

Geralt ate before dressing, hardly tasting a morsel as he wolfed his food down, too eager to dress to bother with the steps in between. It as a fine suit—the finest he’d ever worn. It had red twist round the button holes, and there were blue and yellow flowers embroidered on the material with Jaskier’s family colors. He’d specifically requested the buttercups added on his collar after his meeting with the duke and duchess.

Turning this way and that, Geralt admired his reflection. He posed, trying to look as handsome as he thought he might for Jaskier. How best might he stand when Jaskier joined him under the pavilion? He wanted to steal his breath. Soon enough he turned pink, overthinking things, and instead fell to pacing, practicing his vows. He tucked Jaskier’s letter into his vest for luck, then took it out again immediately to review the words. There was nothing to be nervous about, he reminded himself. It was only Jaskier. He _knew_ Jaskier. He _loved_ Jaskier. And yet, he was fidgety, and he felt he might be sick again just as he’d been the day he’d arrived. But it was a good sick, if there was such a thing. He covered his mouth and sat in a chair, taking deep breaths.

That was how Eskel found him, slipping through the bedroom door.

“My lord...” Eskel started before quickly dropping his formalities. “Geralt you look like you’re going to be sick,” he said as he made his way over to his side. Eskel had been dressed up as well: he wore Geralt’s colors and was more done up than he’d ever been in his life.

Geralt waved him off. “I’m fine. Just worked myself up a little. I promise, it’s nothing. Ate a little too fast.”

“You’re nervous.” Eskel pointed out as he leaned against the wall. “You know he loves you, there’s not much else to worry over.”

“Eskel,” Geralt said, standing suddenly to grip his arms. “What if I _fall_ on my way to the pavilion? What if I trip in front of everyone and embarrass him? Or what if I get sick because I’m so nervous about reciting the vows? What if I drop the _ring_ before I put it on his finger?”

“You won’t do those things, and everyone will laugh it off if you do. Well, maybe not if you get sick,” he chuckled, before shrugging his hands off and resting his hands on Geralt’s shoulders. “You can do this.”

Geralt smiled and pulled him into a fierce hug. “Gods above—I’m so happy, Eskel. I don’t want to screw this day up. I want it all to be perfect.”

He rubbed his back gently. “It will be, trust me,” he insisted as he pulled away. He’d never seen Geralt like this, but he liked it. He was grinning too now, a rare thing for the guard most days.

Geralt patted his shoulder than gestured for him to follow. “Come here! I need your opinion on something.” He dashed to the wardrobe and took his two swords from where they leaned. He held them both before Eskel, a little too closely in his eagerness, practically shoved under his nose. His eyes were shining with excitement and anticipation.

“Which one suits Jaskier more?” he asked. “After the ceremony, I’m getting his name engraved on one. Which should I present to him during the exchange?”

“The silver. It seems impractical and ridiculous until you know better. It’ll suit him,” he offered as he pushed the blades back towards him. “Speaking of your fiancé, he did give me something for you when I stopped by his room.”

Geralt’s complimentary rant died on his tongue at that. He perked up, immediately alert and grinning. “What is it?”

He pulled out a small tightly wrapped parcel and handed it to him. “Open it and find out.”

Geralt took it with a boyish grin. Jaskier, always full of surprises. As he undid the wrapping, he peeked up at Eskel and chuckled. “I’m both disappointed and relieved that you had something with you,” he teased. “The moment you said he’d sent you with something for me, I was half ready to believe it was a kiss—but then I’d have to punch you for stealing a kiss from him on our wedding day. Even for one on the cheek.”

Eskel chuckled softly at that. He hadn’t seen Geralt like this in ages, and honestly he welcomed the change. “I wouldn’t dare, and I’d know better than to tell you.”

Inside the package lay a white lace ribbon embroidered with gold buttercups with a pair of rubies threaded on either end of the ribbon. The intricate strand also smelled faintly of lemon, chamomile, and lavender: the scents that Jaskier had chosen to wear for the ceremony. There was also a note beside it, reading:

_I’m sorry I can’t be there to weave the braid myself, but I figured a piece of my wedding lace would make up for it._

_I love you,_

_Jaskier_

Geralt stroked the ribbon with his thumb. The moment the note unfolded, the scent had wafted into the air. He cleared his throat, suddenly overwhelmed anew. It was a piece of _Jaskier’s_ wedding lace, he’d said. It would be a part of what he was wearing, marking them as a pair. His eyes suddenly felt wet and bleary and he turned away to compose himself.

Eskel gave him a moment to collect himself before speaking up again. “So, what are you going to do with it?” he asked as he caught sight of the lace. “I can help you with the braid if you’d like?”

Geralt smiled at him and passed the ribbon. “Please do,” he replied. “Make it nice for him if you can. I want him to be able to see it.”

Eskel nodded a bit and made him sit so he could get to work on doing something more intricate than what Geralt was used to. “It isn’t going to be close to what the duke can do, but it’ll work,” he said lazily as he tied off the most visible braid with the lace before letting him look.

Geralt walked over to his mirror and turned his head. “Huh,” he said. He glanced back at Eskel, both impressed and surprised. “I didn’t think you could braid so well.”

“Well, I’ve been practicing,” he admitted as he stepped back a bit. “I figured someone had to help you with it, and it ended up being me.”

That was actually a touching sentiment and Geralt smiled at his reflection. “You learned just for my wedding?” he asked in a quiet voice. He didn’t want to speak too loudly and give away just how affected he was. Then, a thought occurred to him and he craned around. “Wait a minute; you have short hair. Who’s hair have you been practicing with?”

Geralt’s eyes went wide. He broke out in an incredulous grin. _“No,”_ he drawled. There was only one other person in their close-knit pack with long hair. “You didn’t ask … ?”

“Well … I practiced on the horses mostly, but uh … Vesemir did have some interesting hair for a while,” he said with a little chuckle. “You can’t say anything to him about this. He’d kill me.”

Geralt was inclined to tell him to get his will ready. The temptation to give Vesemir shit for condescending to have his hair done was so great, but he was in his most generous mood. He merely laughed, head thrown back and one arm braced on Eskel’s shoulder.

“I thought that was Jaskier’s doing. No wonder Roach has been in such a good mood lately. She looks very nice, all dressed up for the ceremony.” He’d almost made her his best mare as a little joke, but Eskel had taken the position. It was only right. Eskel had been there for him longest, practically his own blood.

"Well, she is getting the star treatment at the stables anyways. I have a feeling it won't take long for you to have her saddled after the wedding." Eskel teased, before grinning back at Geralt. "I haven't heard you laugh in ages."

Geralt chuckled once more, feeling charitable. “Depending on how long the honeymoon lasts, you might not hear it again for another year, but frequently after,” he assured.

"It’s good to see you happy." He added, "And as long as I don't have to search the continent for you two again, go wild."

“We’ll come back eventually, I promise. But in the meantime …”

Geralt growled at him with a playful wink.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Eskel chuckled before shoving him a bit. "We should be going soon."

“You were the one who said to go wild,” he replied, snickering at his back. “I intend to carry him off directly after the ceremony. Once the vows are exchanged, nobody can object; the time for that is at the start.”

He was already eagerly making his way to the door, happy to move things along as quickly as possible. He opened the door and waved Eskel through impatiently, the swords now slung over his back. He patted his pockets to make sure he had everything ready: note, swords, ribbon—all prepared. Vesemir would be holding onto the wedding rings. Geralt smiled down at his ring finger. His mother’s ring shined back at him. Today, they’d exchange rings of their own in accompaniment. He couldn’t wait a second longer.

Eskel followed after him. "So, have you seen what he's wearing?" he asked as they walked along. "I mean, I wish you could have seen him this morning, he looked just as happy as you do."

“He hasn’t said a word about it; said he wanted to surprise me. How much longer now until the ceremony starts?” The progress of the morning felt like an eternity.

"We have about an hour or so until then, you should eat, or do something to settle your nerves," he offered as they continued along.

Geralt groaned. “An _hour,”_ he mumbled. How the hell was he supposed to kill that kind of time? It was ludicrous. It was an impossible amount of time. He could scarcely warp his head around it.

He might go to visit Roach, but then he’d smell of the stables, and he didn’t want to make Jaskier suffer that today of all days. How to spend an hour? He’d already eaten. He was dressed, his vows memorized—perhaps he might go over them again, just for lack of something else to do. He quite liked saying them and imagining what Jaskier would think, but his imagination began to stagnate after doing it so long. And yet, he had an hour to fill. An hour!

"Yes, just one more hour, then you can see him again. You waited three years, one hour won't kill you," he chuckled lazily, before nudging him a bit.

“You don’t know that,” Geralt grumbled. He’d never felt the blood rush so quickly through his veins. If he stopped moving for a moment, his legs would give out under him he was so unsteady. Were it not for his fine clothes, he would take a lap around the estate to relieve some of the jittering. Instead, he had to settle for walking briskly so as not to build up a sweat.

“Let’s peek into the kitchen, see how things are going.” Geralt wondered if they’d started on the pudding already. It might be the one thing he’d be able to swallow in the meantime.

Jaskier sat at the vanity in the room, fiddling with the lace at his collar. He was so excited, so ready to see this through, but he couldn't help the nerves coiling in his gut. He sighed softly, and looked up at himself in the mirror. He was wearing white: all white and gold. It was the opposite of his usual dress, the lack of intricacies aside from the lace at his wrists and collar left only his own beauty to focus on. It suited him well, but he had nothing to hide behind.

He glanced over to the door to look at Lambert. "Do you think he's worried too?" he asked gently.

Lambert looked at the clock. “Hm. If he hasn’t thrown up twice by now, he’s either had a heart attack or he’s just _about_ to,” he joked. “Of course he’s nervous. Hysteric, more likely. Always was the dramatic one of the pack, even if he’d never admit it.”

"Oh gods, imagine if we got to the ceremony and he lost his breakfast there," he said with a nervous little chuckle. "That would be fitting wouldn't it?" he said, before fiddling with the rings on his hand.

Lambert looked at him curiously. “He’d be sure to do it before going anywhere near the garden; he’s honourable that way.” The way Jaskier said it had a strange implication, as if by spilling at the ceremony, it’d be from disgust, just like the rumors and jokes of the last three years of what might eventually come to pass if the lord were found and dragged back to his duty.

“Are you alright?” Lambert asked, eyeing his fiddling hands.

"Honestly? No. I want to marry him, but not like this," he said softly. "I love him, I love him endlessly, but this isn't for us. You know that."

Lambert nodded. “Are you going to be able to handle it? It’s not too late to skip out, leave a note on the door.” Even as the words tumbled out, he himself couldn’t tell if he meant them or not. He just didn’t like the expression on his companion’s face.

"I'll be fine when I see him," he said softly. "And I can't leave him. I considered running away last night with him, but you would find us before daybreak anyways. We'll just leave as soon as it’s over."

“I meant that you would take him along. Besides, I already told Vesemir that I wouldn’t be participating in any more pointless manhunts. That, and I refuse to babysit. That’s _Eskel’s_ job from now on—I need a break.”

Lambert flopped down on Jaskier’s couch and made himself comfortable. He sighed and propped his feet up on the edge. “I’m skipping into town after the reception; want to be as far away from the consummation night as possible. You two are embarrassingly loud. I would’ve shoved wax in my ears if I’d had any,” he teased, attempting to lighten the mood.

“Oh, I have a feeling you won’t have to worry about hearing us,” he teased back. “How do I look, by the way? I know you don’t exactly care, but I want to look nice for this. I want him to remember this moment even if it isn’t out of a fairy tale.”

Lambert swung back to his feet and stepped over. “Who says I don’t care?” he asked, his tone one of mild offence. “I care very much. It may be your fake-wedding day, but I’m still in your corner.”

He circled Jaskier in appraisal, tugging at a wrinkle here and there where it could not otherwise be reached, then he poked Jaskier’s side. “Looks good. Even if the moment isn’t out of a fairy tale, I’d guess you’d just stepped out of one if I hadn’t been there to see you covered in dirt and dust on the road to get here. Just don’t let it get to your head.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that and hugged him. "Thank you, Lambert, it means a lot to me that you're here for me," he said warmly before letting him go. "Although, if you make me blush again, I'll think you're a doppler."

Lambert, already blushing a bit himself, cleared his throat and gave Jaskier a light shove. “Don’t mention it. Really. Breathe a word of it and I’ll knife your lip, got it?”

"Understood, although sometimes scars do make people more interesting," he teased back before grinning at him again. "How much time do we have left?"

“Not enough to explain all the many creative ways Geralt would throttle me if I ever _did_ put a scar on you. So, about forty minutes,” Lambert replied.

"That's far too much time..." Jaskier mumbled as he paused to think. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

Lambert smiled and crossed to the door. “Where to? I’ll keep an eye out, make sure we don’t bump into Geralt prematurely. If you want to save the surprise, I’d put on a cloak, just in case.”

“I’ll wear a cloak, but I was thinking we could go out to the stables?” he asked gently. “Or walk along the pastures anyways, I have something to do.”

Lambert chuckled and shook his head. “You two and your horses,” he scoffed. He opened the door and fetched a cloak left draped on a nearby chair, tossing it at Jaskier. “Bet you two silver he’s going to be there, talking to Roach. Probably getting her dressed up to be a bridesmaid,” he snorted.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “That’d be too bad then; she’s who I’m off to see,” he chuckled as he pulled on the cloak. “Let’s be off then.”

“Not even your own horse? Poor thing might be jealous of all the attention she gets.”

“Pegasus likes to be left alone or fed, he’s not as … bratty as Roach,” he chuckled as he hurried them out.

“They compliment each other well by the sound of it. Reminds me of a couple of people I know.”

He swatted his arm but lead them out nonetheless. “All you wolves have barbed tongues,” he huffed.

Lambert shrugged. “It helps us balance out the courtly bullshit. I sometimes wonder what Geralt would’ve turned out like if we hadn’t been around to teach him some _real_ manners—and I’m not talking about saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and that nonsense. I’m talking about draining a tankard and throwing darts like a classy gent oughta.”

“Hmm, well I have you to thank for that rugged charm of his then,” he teased lazily. “That, and the way he manages to be sweet while pretending he isn’t. It’s endearing, and all of you tend to be like that.”

“Stop talking nonsense or _I’ll_ throw up next,” Lambert threatened, pretending to gag.

“Listen, you’re basically Geralt’s brother, and I’m marrying into this family, you should just get used to it already. I’m not going to stop being nice.” He chuckled before elbowing him a bit.

“Ew, I’m not related to that prick! Now I really will be sick! Watch your tongue!”

He snorted slightly as he laughed. “Oh, come on, you’re acting like his asshole younger brother right now.”

“Not another word,” Lambert grumbled. He pulled the knife from his belt and wagged it in his direction—an empty threat—before shoving it back in its holster. As they made their way out the side gate, he may have grumbled something about geezers and horses and sentimental sods.

“You might want to cover your ears if all this sweetness makes you sick,” he teased as he walked over the Roach’s pasture and called her over.

Lambert huffed and leaned against the fence, watching Roach sprint over to greet them. “When I’m in town, I’ll _definitely_ be getting a ball of wax.”

Jaskier leaned on the rail and rubbed her nose. “Hello darling,” he hummed before sneaking her a sugar cube. “Lambert is going to think this is ridiculous, but I’m marrying Geralt this morning, and I figured your blessing wouldn’t hurt. Besides, we both know you’re a very opinionated mare, and if you think this will end well, it’s a sign really,” he said as he rubbed her forehead.

Roach nuzzled at his cheek, happy to see him. She hadn’t even bothered bowing to him in her excitement.

“It is ridiculous,” Lambert agreed. “If we’re a family, Vesemir’s the father, and he already gave his blessing. Besides, she gave you her blessing if she’s let you ride her. She’s particular about who she lets near. And she _ran_ to meet you.”

“I give her treats every time I see her, I’d be surprised if she wasn’t happy to see me,” he chuckled softly before kissing her nose and backing off before she could stain his shirt. “And I just wanted to be sure. Animals are better judges than humans anyways.”

“Keeping treats in your _wedding_ clothes to give to your fiancé’s horse.” Lambert rolled his eyes far up to the open sky. “If you two aren’t soulmates, I’ll pull out my teeth—not that I believe in the rubbish, but sometimes you make me wonder.”

“It was one sugar cube,” he said with a chuckle. “Besides, she can’t exactly enjoy the champagne with us, and she was my wedding gift to him. She deserves some attention today.”

“Engagement gift,” Lambert corrected. “The wedding gifts come after the ceremony. Though if you’re cutting out early, I don’t suppose you’ll be able to see it, let alone take your present with you. And after all my digging,” he grumbled.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to tell me what it was?” he asked as he stepped a little further from the fence.

“Hm?” Lambert looked up, as if unaware he’d spoken. He often had a tendency to say whatever he was thinking and there were times when the lines between thoughts and voice were blurred. His eyes opened a little wider. Quickly, he looked away. “Don’t you dare try to weasel it out of me; I took a Guardsman’s oath not to tell. And no hints either.”

“Well, then I guess you’ll just have to wait until we get back from our honeymoon,” Jaskier hummed back before glancing back over to the gardens. “We should go back soon.”

Lambert kicked at a rock as he pulled away from the fence. “Great. It’ll be a _year_ before you see it, knowing Geralt. And after all my work.”

“You could always tell me now?” he reminded as he started to walk them back. “Or I can convince Geralt that we should leave under the cover of night.”

Lambert leapt away from him and put his hands to his ears. “Oath! I took an oath! But that bastard better not make me keep it that long or I’ll cut Roach’s mane, there’s another oath!” He stalked quickly ahead to keep his distance from Jaskier and his serpent’s tongue.

Jaskier laughed as Lambert stormed off. “I will find out!” he cried after him.

“Not from me, you won’t!” Lambert shouted back. Then he clamped his hands on tighter and bolted for the door.

He just laughed again and let him run before looking back at the manor, eventually focusing on Geralt’s window as he drew closer.

All of a sudden, Lambert burst back through the door, an excited grin on his face. “Jaskier! Get your ass over here and take a deep breath!” he called. The side door was close to the kitchens and an enticing, sweet smell wafted through.

“Oh, wait … ” he took a deep breath as he arrived, and toffee was all he could place. “It can’t be—we have to get to the kitchens,” he insisted.

Lambert laughed and grabbed a fistful of the cloak around Jaskier’s shoulder to tug him along. “You’ll get no argument from me; let’s have us a quick raid!” Their boots made such a racket as they scrambled to the kitchen stairs like two boys hurrying down to stick their fingers in the mixing bowl during the holidays.

Down below, that is precisely what Geralt and Eskel were doing.

“How old again?” Eskel asked, sniffing at the syrup on his finger.

“Eighty. Or ninety,” Geralt replied, looking eagerly at the puddings being plated and decorated. He held the bowl of golden treacle and was shamelessly scooping the leftover bits off the side.

Eskel licked it off and hummed appreciatively. “Not bad.”

“Wait until you have the actual pudding, then you’ll really understand what I mean.”

Eskel wiped his hands on a wet towel and cocked his head upwards. “Do you hear something?” he asked. Then he heard two familiar voices conspiring back and forth, laughing at the top of the stair. “Oh, fuck!”

“Whath?” Geralt asked, speaking around two fingers in his mouth in the most undignified manner.

Eskel grabbed the bowl from Geralt with a surprised cry of protest and began shoving him toward the pantry. “Move! It’s your fiancé!”

“Jaskier?” Geralt asked, twisting around. More than pudding, he was hungry for a look at his beloved and he craned his neck toward the stairs.

“It’s bad luck to see each other before the ceremony; get a move-on!”

“But I—!”

Eskel ripped the door open and pushed Geralt through.

“Eskel, what about my _puddi—!”_

The door slammed shut against the word and Eskel jammed a stool under the handle, breathing heavily from the effort of getting Geralt out of sight just in time for Lambert to bound down the last step.

Jaskier was close behind him, and he grinned over at Eskel when he saw him. “Eskel, how’s my fiancé? Did he like the gift—is he well?” he asked in quick succession before starting to search for the pudding.

There was a loud banging from inside the pantry.

Eskel leaned coolly against it. “Geralt’s fine,” he said. “The ribbon went over well.”

Jaskier made a point of ignoring the sound as he found the bowl, and a spoon to eat it with. “I’m so glad. I figured the old one was starting to look worn so this was perfect,” he agreed before eating a bit with a content little moan.

“Ah, leave the other plate, would you?” Eskel asked. There’d only been two made up as of yet, and the rest were being slowly, carefully prepared for the reception. He wasn’t _completely_ heartless.

Lambert, however, was not so incurious. He pointed at the pantry as another round of banging came from the back of the door. “What the fuck is that?” he asked.

“Lambert, don’t you dare eat my pudding!” Geralt shouted.

“I figured it was Geralt, and he’s not the one eating it!” Jaskier called back with a chuckle before eating a little more.

Some of the worry Lambert saw earlier had clearly washed away by then; Roach, and the household’s usual antics were more than enough to settle his nerves for the moment.

“Why the fuck is Geralt in the pantry?” Lambert asked, swiping up the other pudding.

Eskel leaned forward to swipe it back, then rammed back against the door in case the stool was not enough. “Heard you coming. Can’t have them see each other before the ceremony.”

“Superstition, I thought you knew this,” Jaskier teased before setting aside the pudding, and walking to the pantry for a moment. “I can hardly wait to see you, love,” he hummed.

Eskel leaned uncomfortably away and pretended failingly not to hear.

From within, there was a light thud. Geralt knocked his forehead against the door. “You ate the pudding didn’t you?” he asked enviously.

“Of course I did, I’ve been wanting to try it for ages," he said with a chuckle. “Besides, I figured we’d be missing the reception and I wanted to try some before we left.”

“Oh, _you’ve_ been wanting?” Geralt grumbled. “ _You’ve_ been wanting for ages? _I’ve_ been waiting _years_ to have it again! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to make pudding without a proper mold or oven? And never mind having to go and get all the ingredients! Sugar’s expensive! I learned just how seriously people mean it when they say not to accept substitutions in recipes! I was this close”—of course, no one could see him gesticulate from behind the door—“to having that first bite before Eskel shoved me in here! If no one saves me a bite, I’m cancelling the honeymoon, I swear to every god alive and dead!”

Jaskier couldn’t help his laugh at that. “Alright, alright, we’ll be going so you can eat your beloved pudding. You’re acting like I threatened to eat Roach,” he teased.

They could all hear the pout in Geralt’s voice when he spoke. “I wanted to share the first bite with you at the reception before we left. Cruel bastard.”

Lambert snatched back the pudding and stalked off, pretending to gag.

Eskel sighed and waved to one of the cooks, pointing to one of the half-decorated pudding pleadingly with a nod towards the pantry. They started to finish a new one quickly.

“I’m cruel? You snuck off here to steal some in the first place, it was our wedding pudding,” Jaskier said, feigning hurt. “And you decided to enjoy it without me first!”

“Yes, but the pudding is just a pudding. We would’ve had the wedding cake,” Geralt insisted.

“It’s still our _wedding pudding,"_ Jaskier said dramatically. “We both know the horrors you faced for this pudding, it’s better than any cake.”

“He’th not wong, Geralth,” Lambert said, mouth full. “Ey, thith is betty damn good.”

Geralt bumped up against the door, putting his ear to it. “Why is Lambert lisping? Is he eating my pudding? Eskel! What’s going on out there!”

“We have a pudding for you, calm down!”

“Eskel, I’ll kill him—I mean it! Jaskier and I were supposed to have them first!”

Jaskier chuckled softly and started for the door. “You can have your pudding in a minute, we’re leaving,” he teased before grabbing Lambert and dragging him out with him.

Eskel waited until they’d gone up the stairs and the door shut with a solid click. Then, and only then, he let Geralt out of the pantry.

Geralt slumped onto the stool that moments before had held him captive with a sigh. “Not even a goodbye kiss,” he grumbled.

Eskel smacked the back of his head quite skillfully so as not to muss his hair. However, it was none too dainty. “Idiot. You’ll get your kiss at the end of the ceremony.”

Geralt reached to rub his head but Eskel warned him about his hair and put the freshly made pudding in his hand instead. Geralt huffed, but he was placated the moment a cook handed him a spoon. The first bite was incredible, but slightly soured with the absence of Jaskier, so soon gone, so recently near.

“It’s fine,” he murmured, setting the pudding aside.

Eskel let out a long-suffering sigh. He was starting to look forward to the honeymoon.

* * *

Jaskier paced before the door for a moment before his parents arrived. He paused and glanced over at them. “I was wondering when you would join me,” he said with a nervous little smile. His heart was rabbiting in his chest but he tried not to let it show. “How are things with the guests?”

His father spoke first. “They’re all settled in, just waiting for you, when you’re ready.”

“We’ve just come to wish you luck before it starts, and to deliver one final touch,” his mother said, stepping forward to kiss his cheek. “You look lovely, dear.”

“Thank you,” he said gently, before taking her hand in his. “I was hoping to see you before all of this anyways, one last time before I’m married off,” he joked.

She smiled at him one of her softest smiles. “Take this. Lord Eskalott made it ready for you: the last task before the ceremony.” She lifted something from her other hand: a bulk wrapped up in a gossamer cloth. Color showed faintly through it, and the air was sweet as it moved.

“Oh?” he said as he took the bundle from her, and unwrapped it. “He never mentioned a gift before the wedding,” he admitted.

“He said he wanted to return the surprise from this morning,” she explained.

Inside lay a wreath of snapdragons, crisp and bright, plucked from the garden and woven together with care. His mother picked it up and set it delicately on the crown of his head, taking care not to lose a petal. “There. The last touch,” she said. She pulled back to look at him with misty eyes, leaning into her husband’s side.

He wrapped an arm around her and smiled back at Jaskier slightly. “We’re so proud of you,” he said gently.

Jaskier wiped his eyes and nodded a bit. “Thank you—I can’t find the right words right now, but thank you.”

“Our son? At a loss for words?” his mother joked, dabbing at her own eyes with a handkerchief. "I never thought I'd live to see the day!"

“Mum, it’s an emotional day!” he teased before hugging her gently. His father joining in as well.

“Exactly why I have to make light of it. You’ll be going away again, Julian. It’ll be different when you come home; you won’t be coming home to stay. You’ll belong to a new household and it’ll be … it’ll be visiting after. Like a guest.”

“I’ll still be your son, I’ll never just be a guest in Lettenhove,” he said gently, before stepping back a bit. “I’ll visit often too.”

“Every holiday. And I want letters!” she added sternly. “Promise me you’ll write. You weren’t keeping up with us in Novigrad and I was worried. And I demand a visit first thing after the honeymoon to hear all about your adventures together; I’m reliably informed that there will be a lot of adventuring.”

"I promise, well, after the honeymoon anyways, I doubt I'll do much writing while we're away," he said with a chuckle before hugging her gently. "I should go now, I don't want to keep him waiting."

"I agree, now let’s be going," his father said gently, trying to hide how misty eyed he was.

His wife nudged him, pulling a face. “Haven’t you got anything sentimental to say, you old porcupine? Have out with it—it’s your son’s wedding!”

"You're much better at these things darling! Where do you think he gets his tongue? Besides, I'm sure he knows that everything you said applies for me as well," he said with a huff before wiping his eyes.

Jaskier smiled faintly at that: it was nice to hear. "We really should be going though … ”

“Don’t rush your parents,” she scolded, more tears dripping off her chin. “I’ll put you in a corner for your sass. It’s our right to give you on last goodbye before the ceremony and I’ll—I’ll have none of your cheek, young man,” she said, choking up. She took a moment to wipe her eyes once more then turned back to him with another smile. “Now wipe your eyes and get going. Remember to hold your head high, but not so high your crown falls off. You’re a Pankratz, love, if only for a little while longer.”

Jaskier kissed her cheek gently. "I'll always be a Pankratz mama," he said gently before wiping his eyes and straightening out the wreath of flowers that rested atop his head. "And it's not fair to make me cry before I have to go out there. I spent days trying to keep myself together," he teased gently.

“Fair’s fair; you made us cry first,” she replied, waving his hand off and straightening the crown properly.

"I love you," he said one last time before taking his father's arm once she'd finished.

"Hold your head high Julian, you carry our pride with you," his father said gently before the doors opened and they stepped out.

Before she went off to find their seats, they heard the duchess huff quietly behind them. “Hadn’t I just said so myself? How unoriginal, my dear porcupine.”

Julian closed his eyes for a moment as the doors opened, before looking out across the crowd and immediately meeting Geralt's eyes with a fond smile. He saw his crown as well, and as soon as he realized the man had adorned himself in his namesake, he couldn't help the tears that sprang to his eyes.

Geralt had made a mad dash up to the hills to find the buttercups. It was an especially difficult task, having to keep his hair and his clothes all neat as he hunted for them, but the look on Jaskier’s face made the care worthwhile. His chest heaved with a quick breath at the sight of him at last. One foot inched forward. He wanted to run down the aisle and meet him, and yet he found himself too stunned to move.

Only minutes ago he’d been shifting from one foot to the other, muttering a mile a minute as guests filled out the empty seats. He’d been inside the hedges, practicing his vows and waiting for Vesemir to assure him that all was in order, and to give word to Eskel that they were ready for them to enter the pavilion.

The silver sword slung over his back made him more comfortable, just as if he were abroad. The weight of it gave him a sense of security in these strange times. He twice practiced the motion of taking it from its sheath and presenting it to Jaskier, and he knew he was ready. He wasn’t nervous about that. He was excited, antsy, and worked up, but not nervous. Marrying Jaskier was the easiest part of all—and the very best.

Eskel joined him at the altar as well, and stood off to his side. "How are you doing, Geralt?" he asked quietly enough so the crowd couldn't hear him. "Are you ready for this?" he asked gently as he searched his expression for any hesitation.

“I’ve been ready since the day I met him,” Geralt said without a waiver of doubt in his voice.

Eskel smiled faintly at that. "I've never seen you so happy, and I hope that never changes."

Geralt shifted to stand taller. “Give me a quick look; is everything straight? How’s the wreath?” He was afraid touching it too much would make it fall apart. He’d spent the last few days practicing over and over with flowers from the garden in preparation, following the steps he’d learned from some villager’s daughters on more than one of his visits to the country. Even so, he was always afraid of mangling the flowers and he tried not to weave them too tight, often making them too loose in compensation.

"It's all fine," Eskel assured him before pausing, and licking his thumb to wipe away a bit of pudding that he hadn't seen earlier. "Well, now it is. I can't believe you actually made the crowns."

Geralt wiped at his cheek, making a face. “Gross,” he muttered. Then, “Of course I made them. What do you think I would do whenever the children accosted me in town? They’d force me to join in _all_ their games and crafts.”

He was always a favorite, being tall and large of frame. The children liked to ride his shoulders or be swung from his arms. One of the girls’ favorite things was to force him to skip over their too-short ropes to watch him get whapped on the back of the head. Anytime he rode to the tavern, there was sure to be one child who managed to convince him to pick them up and put them on the saddle, or to come down and give them a piggy-back. It was fine as long as they remembered not to pull on his hair.

He was well versed in their activities—had even collected skipping rhymes and games from other children on his travels in the hopes of introducing them to the local terrors he adored. Surprisingly many of their games were similar, if the rules varied. But always there were children making crowns to play at being nobility and brandishing sticks and brooms like knights.

Eskel chuckled fondly at the memory, "Well, maybe you'll be accosted by some of your own later on. I mean that is the next thing on the list after all, and you would be phenomenal dad," he teased before stepping back into his place again. "That'd be a hell of a sight."

Geralt’s eyes went wide and a thick red blush slowly filled out his face. He stared straight ahead, unable to focus on anything. He nearly bit his tongue off at Eskel’s declaration. He’d honestly never been able to look that far ahead. _Fatherhood._ Dear gods above, he could be a _father_. He found it difficult to swallow suddenly. His heart was already beating wildly out of control and now he felt the need to be moving once again. Just the idea of it made him feel as if he ought to rush out and start shaking hands with the attendees.

He closed his eyes and his lips twitched. He covered his face as his eyes began welling up. It was much _much_ too early, but he couldn’t wait to broach the subject with Jaskier. Maybe a year after the wedding. Fuck, they were _in_ the wedding! He was already miles and months away, head filled with ridiculous fantasies.

"Geralt you're supposed to save those for when you see the man," Eskel teased before setting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Besides, you'll have time to think about that later."

“Shut up; you’re the one who made me start thinking in the first place!” Geralt whispered, elbowing his ribs. “You’ve ruined my composure. Now I’m all worked up again.”

"If you weren't getting married I'd step on your foot for that." He rolled his eyes as he spoke. "Pull it together for a few more minutes."

“If I weren’t getting married, I’d have _smacked_ you for that, but I can’t do that without making a scene now, can I?” Geralt replied. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath. Then, in the silence of anticipation, they’d all heard the door creak open.

And there he was.

Jaskier stepped out on his father's arm and his eyes found Geralt's immediately. He was a vision in white, there was nothing flashy about his outfit except for the few splashes of red woven into the lace. He blushed and glanced away after a moment of keeping his gaze, but quickly found it again as he walked closer. He was teary eyed already but that was hardly a surprise.

Geralt recognized the lace trimming his collar. It was the selfsame lace that was currently tied on his braid. His father’s ring glittered on Jaskier’s finger as he walked. Upon his head rested the crown he’d woven, and petals fell loose as he stepped. In that way, Jaskier was his own flower girl and Geralt couldn’t hold back the small laugh that bubbled up from his chest. It quickly turned into light sob as he tried to catch his breath. He couldn’t stand it.

When Jaskier came within a few easy steps of the pavilion, Geralt stepped down to meet him, tears already streaming down his cheeks. He reached out to take both Jaskier’s hands.

Jaskier’s father kissed his son’s knuckles before letting go, and patted Geralt’s shoulder gently before leaving to join his wife. The man even had to wipe his eyes as he walked off.

Jaskier tried to keep his composure but tears ran down his cheeks anyways as he took Geralt’s hands and squeezed them gently. “You look incredible, love,” he said softly as their officiant addressed the crowd to begin the ceremony.

“You’re breath-taking,” Geralt replied. “I wish I had words.”

“You hardly need them, that look in your eyes says more than twenty books could,” he said softly as he stepped a bit closer.

Geralt lead him up the stairs, nearly fumbling the last one in his refusal to look away, but Eskel caught his elbow. There was some chuckling from the crowd and Geralt let out one burst of laughter himself, squeezing Jaskier’s hand tight. “I’m too hasty,” he joked.

Jaskier leaned into him slightly. “Well, I don’t mind. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years now. I can’t wait either,” he said gently as they made their way under the arch.

Geralt had to let one of his hands go to allow them to kneel side by side before the officiant, but he held Jaskier’s remaining hand all the tighter for it. “Only a little more waiting left,” he whispered as the officiant raised his hands to the crowd.

“I think I can manage that,” he said back softly before squeezing his hand and looking up at the officiant as he started to speak again.

“I can’t,” Geralt teased. Then he caught Vesemir’s eye behind the officiant and quickly lowered his head once more, still sneaking a smile and a wink at Jaskier.

The officiant went through the usual blessings and speeches before asking the couple to rise. Geralt was first on his feet and he helped Jaskier up. Before the rings came the sword.

Geralt raised one hand back and unsheathed the sliver sword, the metal flashing in the light as he swung it over his head. He rested it on outstretched palms and knelt once more in front of Jaskier and the congregation.

“My mother’s sword,” he began, looking up at Jaskier the way he did when he spoke of his beloved history. “Once when they were young, my parents forged two swords upon which they swore to do all in their power to protect one another. With the presentation of this sword, I ask that you will allow me to uphold that honour, and that you will likewise do the same for our family, past, present, and future, as you’ve done thus far in my absence. Together, let these swords show that neither of us will ever need to fight alone. This is my first vow to you this day.”

Geralt took a shuddering breath. It had been a difficult speech to write, and he’d been worried for too long about bungling it, but he meant every word and they spilled easily from his tongue when the moment came.

Jaskier’s eyes went wide as he drew the sword, but his expression softened as soon as Geralt spoke. As he finished Jaskier gently took the blade from him and held it in front of himself.

“I swear, my love, to be your shield when you find yourself without one, and your sword when we find ourselves in harm’s way. I will keep you safe, guard your heart with my own until our final breaths, and then beyond that,” he said warmly as he waited for Geralt to rise so he could say his first set of vows to him as well.

Geralt smiled and rose to his feet, covering Jaskier’s hands over the hilt of the sword. He gave them an encouraging squeeze. Jaskier looked good holding a sword. He wanted to tell him so, but that would have to wait. At the moment, he didn’t think he could say a word that hadn’t already been prepared and drilled into his memory. Looking at Jaskier, it was a miracle he could even stand. But he did. Jaskier was miraculous inspiration.

Jaskier had to take a moment to steady himself before pulling a hand away from the hilt and pulling a familiar blue and yellow ribbon from his pocket.

“My gift doesn’t have as much meaning to others as it does to us, but I wish to give it to you anyways,” he said gently as he looped the ribbon around their hands that stayed on the blade. “I have wanted for no one but you all this time. You were the one thing that kept me going through these years, and even the thought of you, of today, kept me bound to reality. Hopefully … ” he tied a loose knot in the ribbon to tie their hands together, and took a moment to steady himself once more. “Hopefully it will bind our love as it has before, for years to come.”

Geralt couldn’t wait a moment longer. With his free hand, he reached forward to cup Jaskier’s cheek in his hand, leaning forward to press a kiss against his lips.

Vesemir and the officiate cleared their throats at the same time and Geralt leaned back with a sigh. “Oh, leave off,” he said, encouraging giggles and murmurs from the audience. “We’ve waited long enough; one kiss won’t ruin the ceremony.”

“Two might,” Jaskier teased gently before kissing him again, indulging himself for a moment before pulling away to look back at the officiate so he could finish.

There was one rather rowdy whoop from somewhere in the audience. Geralt chuckled. He knew that if he looked, he’d find Lambert acting a little too innocent in the crowd.

“If we might continue with the exchanging of the rings?” the officiate prompted.

Geralt gave Jaskier’s cheek one more quick peck before straightening up, not to be outdone.

Vesemir stepped forward with two new rings in hand. He presented the first to Geralt.

Geralt smiled and slipped the ring on Jaskier’s finger as best he could beneath the ribbon, laughing as he did. How many times had he laughed now? Too many to count. Every little thing set him off and he couldn’t contain himself. He was either laughing or crying all the while.

“My second vow to you today. I promise to love you and honour you all my days, in all circumstances, in life and in death. Today, you beat Roach for first place in my heart,” he said.

Jaskier chuckled fondly at the comment but still had to wipe his eyes. “She’s going to be so upset with you,” he teased softly, trying to distract from his tears. Of course the horse made it into his vows: she was fundamental in their relationship. She was Geralt’s favorite creature on this earth, everyone knew that, so he was truly touched even if it seemed ridiculous.

“Hmm, she’ll live with it. And it’s only for today,” he teased. But it wasn’t, and everyone there knew _that_ as well. “I vow to make up for the three years of solitude you’ve endured. I’ll never give you cause to doubt my devotion, and if doubts ever come, I’ll be there with you to fight them off. I will put in the work so that the saddest of your future days will never be as dark as the ones we’ve left behind. I want to share your every happiness, and I want you to share in mine.”

Jaskier took up the other ring as soon as Geralt finished, and gently slipped it on his finger. “I’ve waited for you every day for three years, and my heart ached for you every moment you were away, but I’d gladly wait another three as long as I ended up here in the end. With this ring I promise you will never fear loneliness again. I will run with you every time, I will stay by your side even as we return to the earth. I will love you like no man has loved before,” he said as he stepped closer to him. “I will love you when my voice gives out and I can no longer sing you ballads to show it. I will love you when your hands are too stiff to hold your swords. But most importantly, I will love you as long as you hold me dear. I love you, Geralt, more than I’ll ever be able to truly express.”

In response, Geralt pulled him forward into a tight embrace, careful not to press them against the blade of the sword. “I will _always_ hold you dear. My dear, beloved Jaskier.” His words were quiet, only meant for him.

Jaskier couldn’t hold it together any longer. He let his head fall forwards against his chest and cried into his shirt. It felt so right to hear that, all of it was so right it was overwhelming.

Geralt stroked his back before bringing his hand back up to squeeze Jaskier’s shoulder comfortingly, arm wrapped securely around him to shield him from all eyes. The officiate had the sense to wait quietly while Geralt and Jaskier had their moment. Geralt kissed Jaskier’s temple and tucked his head in front to hide him from their audience, give him the privacy he needed.

“I love you so much it hurts,” Jaskier said, although a soft sob cut through his words while he spoke. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, I—I can hardly speak around you, you steal all of my thoughts." It was only loud enough for him to hear through his quiet cries.

“I can barely speak at _all_ , but you somehow compel me to,” Geralt replied. “You make me talk and laugh—I’ve never smiled so much in all my life. I’ve never been good with words, but if you need, I’ll do the talking for now. I already know how you feel. I feel all the same things.”

Jaskier nodded a bit and slowly started to calm down again. “You manage to steal my voice too,” he teased with a wet sounding chuckle.

“I told you: I know how you feel. It isn’t too hard to borrow your words.” Geralt pulled his hand back to brush the tears from Jaskier’s cheeks, his own face dripping and red.

Jaskier met his eyes again and offered him a weak smile as he leaned into his touch for a moment before he glanced back at the officiant so they could finish the ceremony.

They conducted the last segment of the ceremony pressed up against one another, Geralt’s arm around Jaskier’s back to keep him steady. When the final vow came preceding the announcement, Geralt was too excited. He cut in to say, “Yes, I do,” right in the middle of the question. Then, sheepishly, he waited for the officiate to finish before repeating his declaration in a more dignified manner.

Jaskier smiled up at him fondly before replying with his own “I do,” as the officiant finished. He barely waited for the man to give them permission before he had a hand tangled in Geralt’s hair and was guiding him into a kiss.

Geralt wrapped one arm around his waist and picked him up, spinning him around once for joy. “Now let’s put this thing away before one of us gets hurt,” he said, nodding at the sword. “Then I want to give the first proper kiss to my _husband.”_

Jaskier giggled softly and nodded. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that,” he said fondly as he let go of the sword and untied their hands. “Give me just a moment?” he asked before tying the ribbon to the hilt of the blade.

Geralt grinned at the sight. “I like it,” he said. “Would you like to carry it or shall I?”

“You look far better holding a sword than I do,” he teased lazily.

“Oh, I would beg to differ,” Geralt replied, sheathing it once more. “Nobody looks better with a sword than my husband.” Perhaps it was laying things on thick, but if Jaskier never got tired of hearing it, he'd never tire of saying it.

“You’re just saying that because I look good in everything,” he teased as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

“True, but you look especially good with a sword. Gives you a roguish charm. I’d elaborate, but we’re surrounded by polite company at the moment,” Geralt said with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist.

Jaskier kissed him again and pulled away for a brief moment. “We should stay for the night,” he said softly.

“I won’t argue. They just opened the door for the catering; I can smell it and I’m starving. Besides, I think I want to stay and have that first dance after all. And I want to show you off a little, turns out.”

They stepped down from the pavilion amidst cheers and clapping, guiding the procession toward the reception inside.

Jaskier stayed close to his side as they were brought to the head table. “I can’t stop thinking about our dance,” he admitted gently.

“The one coming or the one last night?” Geralt asked. He pulled out Jaskier’s chair for him before settling in the next one at his side, taking his hand again. He couldn’t stay away from him a moment.

“Both,” he said with a grin as he reached for Geralt’s hand again. “My last dance with my fiancé and my first with my husband.”

Geralt turned away to bury his face in his free hand, his ears red. “You’re really too much for me,” he said. He thought things would be easier now, but they were so much worse. Hearing the word spoken right back had his heart full to bursting. He felt like he was about to die in the very best way.

Jaskier chuckled softly and kissed his cheek. “Darling, you love me,” he teased before taking his hand again.

“Obviously I do,” Geralt said, squirming in his seat to face him. “What do you think _this_ means?” He raised their twined fingers to show his ring.

Jaskier chuckled softly and kissed his cheek again. “I know, I know, I guess I’m just right for you then?”

“You’re perfect. But you’re also an incurable tease,” Geralt replied as the others began to take their seats.

“Oh, well then I have to tell you that I’m wearing more lace than what’s on my doublet,” he purred in his ear as he pulled away.

Geralt’s breath hitched and he sat rigidly in his seat. “You bastard,” he mumbled, trying to smile and wave at his guests as he was expected to do. Now he was just a bit hot under the collar.

Jaskier chuckled softly and turned his attention to the guests as well, politely thanking them for their well wishes while he hung on to Geralt’s arm.

Wine was poured and the guests proposed their toasts and offered congratulations in turn. Geralt nodded to them graciously, leaning against Jaskier as he watched them each stand and talk. Honestly, he could not remember a single one of them, but they said some nice things.

Jaskier leaned into his side and chatted the guests pleasantly, running his fingers along his lover’s thigh lazily as they continued with their pleasantries.

The hairs stood up on Geralt’s skin at the unexpected contact. He cleared his throat, still looking at their guests as he spoke quietly. “Jaskier,” he whispered “what are you doing?”

“Three years darling,” he reminded lazily with a devious look in his eyes. “You kept me waiting for this for three years, you can wait a few hours.”

“So can you. Our—your parents are right there,” he hissed. And Vesemir and Eskel on his other side, Lambert just down from them.

“Then you should stop drawing their attention,” he hummed lazily before squeezing his thigh and turning his attention to the guests again.

Geralt gasped and tried to cross his legs. Jaskier was difficult to ignore at the _best_ of times, but they’d had a difficult time finding moments together all weak. They hadn’t slept together since the night of the proposal. This was fine. Just a few hours. If he was successful enough, Jaskier would get bored and there’d be no trouble. He just had to steel himself, feign disinterest.

Jaskier snickered slightly before leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I can’t wait to be back in your bed. I can only imagine how I’ll look with white lace so stark against those deep red sheets,” he purred.

Geralt swallowed a thick lump in his throat. He’d just pretend not to hear. He smiled, catching the end of a speech and pretending he’d heard the rest of it. That was all well and good until one of the guests called for another speech. From the master of the house.

Geralt blanched. Firstly, because he had no speech prepared and public speaking was a nightmare. Secondly because he’d lost his voice into the bargain. More guests began to ring their glasses and rally in the request. He wouldn’t be able to say no.

“Darling you can’t deny them,” Jaskier teased lazily before ringing his glass as well. “And I hope you don’t deny me, it is our wedding night.”

Reluctantly, Geralt took a breath and rose to his feet. Thankful that the tables and chairs were quite tall, he rose. He cleared his throat and raised his own glass, nodding to all present. “I would like to begin by thanking all of you for coming. I see some familiar faces tonight and some which I hope to recognize in time,” he said. He focused on the amnesia story to take his mind off of other distractions. It helped to have a goal in mind.

“I gives me great pleasure to share this day with all of you: with family,” he tilted his glass towards the duke and duchess, and to his pack. “Friends. And associates from every land.” He paused for dramatic effect, as well as to think of something more to say. Something about the trade? His plans for their tour of the Continent? They hadn’t gotten to wedding gifts yet, but he could lay out a general thanks, he supposed.

Jaskier ran his hand up the back of his thigh while he spoke, and pretended to watch him with only adoration in his eyes instead of mischief. The young duke cleared his throat slightly and looked up at Geralt, expecting him to continue.

Geralt’s breath caught and his mind went blank. Obviously ignoring him was not going to work out well. So Geralt did the next best thing he could think of. He placed a warning hand on the back of Jaskier’s neck like one might scruff a cat. To the outward eye, it looked like a gesture of affection.

“I would like to thank my husband for his patience. It must have been difficult for him to maintain his composure for so long with all the challenges my disappearance left in its wake. And,” he gestured towards the duke and duchess, “I wish to thank his parents for standing at his side and waiting out the storm. I’m honoured to become a part of this family—to stand beside them today in front of you all.”

Jaskier let his hand fall away before standing up beside him and running his hand under the back of his suit. “To Geralt’s homecoming!” he called out in a toast as he raised his wine glass.

“To the homecoming!” the guests cheered in unison, thankfully drowning out Geralt’s startled cry. He quickly removed Jaskier’s hand and held it tight. His other hand was occupied with the glass.

 _Caught_ , Geralt thought with a smirk.

“And here’s to the future!” he called. “I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you anew on our tour of the Continent. Let’s toast to a bountiful trade, and to kinship between our respective nations!”

They raised their glasses once more before all sat and had their drinks.

Geralt sighed, relaxing in his chair. Short, sweet, and nothing offensive. It was the best he could manage.

Jaskier settled beside him again and leaned against his side, so close he was nearly in his lap. “You did a wonderful job. It looks like you really did steal my tongue,” he teased lazily before pushing the hair from Geralt’s eyes.

“You were very helpful in that way. _Less_ so in others.” Geralt looked out over the crowd, eyes focusing on the guest who’d first called for him to make a speech. “When we go touring, we’re skipping that man over. What idiot asks an amnesiac to speak to a crowd of strangers?”

“A drunk one,” Jaskier teased, before kissing his cheek again. “And we can’t skip over Lord Veral; he’s one of the lords on the border, we need a good relationship with him.”

Geralt hummed noncommittally and took a drink from his glass as the first course was served. Someone came forward and filled his glass once more. Absently, as a joke, he wondered if getting drunk would help him with all the conversation. He snorted and set his glass down. Sounded like a bad idea.

Jaskier’s hands didn’t stop wandering through dinner. Not for very long anyways. His touch was always present in some form, but at least he didn’t attempt to surprise Geralt while he was drinking.

Once the conversation settled a bit Jaskier spoke to Geralt once more. “After cake all that’s left is our dance, then you can have me all to yourself,” he hummed lazily before filling his glass for the first time.

“I’m not so sure it isn’t the other way around,” Geralt mumbled. Jaskier was the one pawing at him under that table trying to rile him up. Geralt was on his third glass. It was actually much more helpful for ignoring Jaskier’s teasing than it was for conversation.

“Either way I might have to cut you off soon,” he teased lazily before sipping from his own glass. “I want you to remember everything about tonight,” he hummed.

“I’ll stop drinking when you keep your hands to yourself,” Geralt replied. Pointedly, he raised his glass to his lips again. He _would_ have to stop soon. He was already feeling light, a bit tingly, and the dancing would start at the end of the hour.

“Fine, fine, I’ll keep my hands over here.” He chuckled softly after kissing his cheek. “Besides, we do have pudding to eat soon, and I will need my hands for that.”

Geralt set his glass down again, relieved. He’d be able to take that time to relax so he could be sightly for their dance. He’d been half aroused all through dinner and he didn’t want everyone to get an eyeful during when they left the table. He was looking forward to a _romantic_ reception. The rest would come later.

When the pudding was served, Geralt’s eyes lit up. He and Jaskier were served first, naturally, and he waited until every plate was given before picking up his spoon. He first watched everyone take a bite with a sense of pride, knowing that he’d brought the recipe back from his journey. It was nice having something to offer that way. He couldn’t wait to share what he’d learned about regional trade when they went on their tour for the same reasons.

Jaskier got his attention before he could pick up his spoon. “It’s tradition for my family to feed your new spouse the first bite of dessert. It’s supposed to bring you sweetness in your marriage,” he said sweetly.

“Is that real or are you making it up?” Geralt asked suspiciously. He couldn’t help cracking a small smile either way.

“It’s real, my mum has a stain on her wedding dress to prove it,” he chuckled softly.

Geralt looked over to her for confirmation and she nodded. Both parents were watching with gentle smiles, amused. So he turned back to Jaskier and leaned forward, saying, “Let’s do them proud and try not to drip then,” with a cheeky wink.

“If you stain this doublet I will cry,” he teased before filling his spoon and holding it out for him.

Geralt did likewise and held his free hand underneath to catch any drippings. The very last thing he wanted was to make Jaskier cry. “Open up, buttercup,” he said with a chuckle.

Jaskier chuckled fondly and opened his mouth for him. The pudding was sweet, but having Geralt like this was far sweeter.

Geralt fed him the bite and snuck a quick kiss after. “Like it?” he asked eagerly.

“It’s fantastic,” Jaskier hummed after he swallowed. He held up a spoon for him as well. “Here, Love.”

Geralt _preened_. He’d been wanting to share the dish with Jaskier since he’d shown him the card. He was so proud, he was practically glowing, though the wine might have had some influence on the flush in his cheeks. He closed his eyes and opened wide, leaning on one hand to accept his own first bite, now sure it really _would_ taste as wonderful as he remembered. After all, everything should be perfect when everything is perfect.

Jaskier gave him the spoonful before also wiping a little bit of it on his nose. “There, now there’s some extra sweetness to go around too,” he teased before kissing his cheek again.

Geralt laughed and looked up at Jaskier, head ducked slightly. “Joke’s on you. Look what I discovered I could do when I was four.” He tilted his head back up and licked the tip of his nose. What he couldn’t reach with his tongue, he rubbed off with his napkin. “Tadaa,” he said, feeling silly.

Jaskier grinned before leaning forwards a bit and stealing a kiss from him. His worries had been left at the door the second he saw Geralt and now seeing him completely relaxed only furthered the calm that’d settled in him.

“Is that all you have to say about my clever trick?” Geralt asked, giving him another kiss before parting.

“Yes. Besides, I’ve always known you to have a clever tongue,” he teased.

Geralt turned redder and looked around to be sure nobody heard. “Damn it, that was perfectly innocent until now,” he mumbled. He took another bite and turned away so that he wouldn’t have to talk more or look at Jaskier’s obvious leering.

Jaskier chuckled softly at that before digging into his pudding as well. That would be the end of his teasing for now, he wanted to keep their dance sweet.

The pudding did not disappoint. Geralt had no shame in asking for another. Besides, it helped to sober him up and he was feeling bright-eyed and energetic by the time the plates were cleared away and the band began to take their places.

Geralt took Jaskier’s hand, rubbing a thumb over his rings. “Are you ready?” he asked, his feet already itching to be on the floor.

“Of course, I’ve been dreaming of this for ages,” he said as a faint blush rose to his cheeks. “Let’s go take our place, love.” He found his feet at that and still held Geralt’s hand to pull him along.

Geralt rose and followed him, staring with misty eyes. He’d been dreaming too. He thought of those dreams now with a sigh, knowing that in all his attempts, he never had seen anything so wonderful as the real thing. He’d never imagined anyone like Jaskier as his partner.

“I love you, you know,” Geralt said softly, just as if he’d said it a hundred times, enough to almost lose the meaning, now remembered.

“I know. I love you too,” he said warmly as he wound their fingers together and guided him to the dance floor.

Geralt was a dream, really: sweet and loyal, and perfectly suited for him. With every moment spent beside him, Jaskier felt loved.

As the first dance began, they waltzed. All eyes were on them, but Geralt didn’t feel a single one. It was just them during their dance. His heart was full in that moment as he gazed adoringly at his husband—and what a wonderful, precious title that was. Every time he thought of it, he wanted to lift Jaskier in his arms and declare his love to the world so all would know. This was his husband. This was the love of his life.

Jaskier leaned against his chest in the last few steps of the dance, taking a moment to completly lose himself in his husband and the moment. It was perfect, it was all perfect and beautiful and worth every pain he had experienced in the years he waited. Geralt made him feel so loved, most days it left him feeling like his heart was about to jump out of his chest. He pulled away slightly to look up at him as the song slowed to a stop and he smiled sweetly before throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him again.

Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist once more and picked him up, spinning them just as he’d done at the altar. Jaskier made him feel like flying and it was as close as they could get. Every opportunity, he wanted to sweep his husband off of his feet.

They parted to fond clapping and laughter, quite forgetting their audience.

Geralt remained with one arm on Jaskier’s waist as the band began to play the introduction to a much livelier tune. “Do you remember the steps I taught you to that dance last night?” he asked, glancing down. “It’s a Rivian wedding; and judging by how many people have just stood up from their seats, we won’t be able to leave the floor. We like to get a little rowdy after the formalities.”

“Of course I remember them.” He chuckled before stepping closer to Geralt to avoid getting swept away in the crowd. “But I would love a guide anyways,” he hummed as he grinned up at him.

“Just try not to look at your feet. And remember: it’s less of a dance than a romp. As long as you keep moving, nobody will step on your toes.”

And then the music began!

Left and turn! Skip right—turn again!—always following the circle. For the moment, formalities disappeared. People laughed and hollered; Lambert danced with a fine lad nearby, and Eskel had his arm around a red-headed lady. Everyone mingled for one dance, wine-drunk and influenced by the air of cheer. And for that moment, Geralt felt as if the manor were truly home.

“I see an opening,” Geralt said close to Jaskier’s ear. “Shall we slip back to our seats?”

“I think we shall,” he chuckled back as he held Geralt a bit closer so he wouldn’t be lost in the chaos of the floor.

They passed Lambert on their way, nearly out of the ring of dancers when Lambert pulled Jaskier from Geralt's arms with a wicked laugh. "Switch!" he shouted, tossing Geralt his partner.

Geralt sputtered as Jaskier and Lambert were caught up in the dance. "Lambert!" he bellowed. But Lambert only laughed and waved, a hand on Jaskier's back.

Jaskier couldn’t help but laugh as he was pulled away from his husband and back into the dance again. “He’s going to kill you for that,” he teased.

“It’s rude to sit down in the middle of a dance, especially when you haven’t paid a visit to your friends on the floor. Besides, I’m doing you a favor,” Lambert added with a wink.

“How so?” Jaskier asked as he narrowly avoided crashing into another pair. “I quite enjoyed dancing with my husband.”

“Whoops, sorry. I’m not much of a dancer myself.” Lambert could see Geralt storming aggressively closer, catching up to them. “But I noticed you trying to rile Geralt up earlier. Thought I might lend a hand.”

Jaskier snickered slightly at that and leaned into Lambert a bit as they continued. “Well, I’ll definitely take the help at the moment, seeing as I took a break during dessert.” He chuckled as he spun them away from Geralt and into a different circle.

Blocked by a wall of dancers, Geralt steamed. “Get back here!” he called, fist raised.

“Oh, he’s gonna be roaring mad,” Lambert snickered. “You’ll have to open presents tomorrow, I think.

“Trust me, I was planning to pull him away while everyone was distracted, but I think that’ll wait another minute or two.” Jaskier chuckled before waving back to Geralt with a grin.

Geralt looked affronted and paused at Jaskier’s playful gesture. Then, he ducked under the arms of a couple and stalked forward into the second circle.

Lambert looked back and his grip on Jaskier loosened. “I don’t think you’ll have much chance of sneaking. He’s drawing a lot of attention. But I don't think he's planning on being subtle anyway.”

“Well, if he hauls me off I won’t exactly mind that either,” he chuckled softly before glancing over his shoulder towards Geralt. He grinned back at him and slipped from Lambert’s arms to meet him halfway.

Geralt snatched Jaskier forward and scooped him up in his arms, glaring at Lambert. “You couldn’t behave for _one_ day, could you?” he growled. Then, looking down at Jaskier, added, “That goes for the _both_ of you.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I behaved perfectly, darling, I don’t know what you mean,” he said with a chuckle as he wrapped his arms around his neck.

Geralt narrowed his eyes and pulled Jaskier’s arms back down. With seemingly no effort, he hefted Jaskier over his shoulder and turned to address the company. “Thank you for the party,” he said. He gave cursory nod. “If you’ll excuse us.” With no objections, the circle parted for them and Geralt carried Jaskier off into the main house, grip fierce.

Jaskier cried out as he was lifted but the shock soon faded away into giggles as he was hauled off. The party erupted in laughter and cheers as they left, but Jaskier’s focus remained squarely on Geralt. “That last bit wasn’t planned,” he said with a chuckle.

Geralt scoffed. “Not by _you,_ maybe.” But he knew Lambert. Fucking prick. The reaction from the party had caught him off guard, leaving him feeling a bit awkward. He hadn’t expected it. For that reason, he was glad Jaskier was dangling over his shoulder where he wouldn’t be able to see his face.

“Maybe,” he hummed before trying to look back at him. “I’m glad the reception went well,” he hummed as he grabbed a handful of Geralt’s suit to steady himself.

“It was fun. Would’ve enjoyed it more if you hadn’t spent half of it groping me. So many times, I was worried your parents would notice.”

“Revenge is quite fun,” he hummed, mostly ignoring the complaint. “So are you planning on carrying me all the way to our chambers like this?”

Geralt paused, one foot on the stairway. Then, “Yes,” he mumbled, continuing.

“I don’t even get to see that cute little pout until we get there?” he whined playfully as he tried to stay still so Geralt wouldn’t be thrown off balance.

“I don’t pout,” Geralt said, pursing his lips.

“I can hear you pouting already,” he teased back.

“Then you’re hearing things.” Geralt took a breath and forced a stern look for practice as they reached the landing. He wouldn’t give Jaskier the satisfaction of seeing him pout after that. He strutted into the hall, trying to project confidence in spite of his rapid heartbeat.

“Oh, I’m sure that’s the case,” he chuckled before reaching down and swatting his ass.

Geralt yelped and braced against the wall, nearly dropping Jaskier. He took a moment to steady himself, shocked.

“I can’t believe you didn’t expect that,” Jaskier said as he burst into a fit of giggles. “Really Geralt, it was right there.”

Geralt, finding it difficult enough to hold himself upright, set Jaskier on his feet. “You can _walk_ the rest of the way,” he said, head lowered. He stumbled forward, trying to keep ahead on wobbling legs. _That_ was new.

Jaskier moved in front of him as he found his footing and he took one of Geralt’s hands in his own. “Oh? Can’t seem to handle me tonight?” he teased as he pressed himself up against Geralt’s chest, and gently pushed him back against the wall. He held their hands against it too and grinned up at him, before moving to steal another kiss.

Geralt’s heart was hammering in his chest. His breath became shallow as he found himself crowded, trapped. He swallowed hard. “You’re a handful,” he said, trying to bring back the hard quality in his voice, but it came out weaker than expected. The last time anyone had had him up against a wall, it had been with a knife to his throat. He wasn’t used to being … handled in this way. He remembered the morning they spent together in the tub and a hot flash ran through his blood. Something about Jaskier now had reminded him.

“I know, but you seem to manage,” he purred before kissing him again. He knew he got to Geralt like this, and he was perfectly willing to lean into it for a moment.

Geralt reached forward to meet him, closing his eyes. He opened his mouth to deepen the kiss, breath already catching in his throat. He squeezed their joined fingers, enjoying the feeling.

Jaskier immediately settled against him as their lips met. The sense of familiarity and eagerness mingled so well between the pair and Jaskier was more than happy to indulge.

“How … did I manage?” Geralt asked, pulling away at last to breathe. In many ways, Jaskier took his breath away; this being a particular favorite.

Jaskier kissed his knuckles and stepped back a bit, “I don’t know darling, I ask myself the same thing,” he said breathlessly as he smiled up at him.

Geralt leaned forward and draped himself over Jaskier, hugging him close. That tender gesture had him weak at the knees. Never. Never in all his life had he felt so loved. The smile, so bright and beautiful, and the light kiss both left him feeling so beyond description. “Take me inside,” he said, “before my legs give out from under me.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that and kissed his cheek before leading him into their room. “I guess all it takes is a kiss to soothe you,” he teased fondly. “That’s sweet.”

“Looks like your tradition worked then,” Geralt sighed. Yes, it had taken a kiss, but not just any kiss would do. The sweetness had all come from Jaskier.

“I guess so,” he hummed before letting him go. “It’s a beautiful night,” he hummed as he made his way towards the windows.

Geralt sighed again: this time for the loss of Jaskier’s attention. He walked over to the bed and lay down to watch him. At least he had a fine view of him, framed by the silver of the moon. It didn’t take a poet to recognize such things.

“Come back, Julian,” he said. He spoke the name with a careful affection. He wanted Jaskier to love it again one day. Surely when he was young and dreaming of this day, he’d used the name. He wanted to give that joy back to him. Until then, he would use it sparingly.

He glanced back at him with a faint blush gracing his cheeks. “It sounds nice when you say it,” he said although he stayed put. “Join me here for a minute? Please?”

Geralt smiled and crept over the bed. In a moment he was wrapped around Jaskier, cheek to cheek over his shoulder, looking out the window. “What do you want to show me?” he asked, swaying a little.

“My new home,” he said softly as he looked out over the grounds. He leaned back against Geralt slightly as he spoke. “All of this is ours now, from the lake to the village, and the manor grounds—it’s beautiful, and it’s ours,” he said fondly.

Geralt hummed in agreement. “I can’t wait to show it all to you,” he whispered. “Every bit. I want you to become a part of it, just like I was, and I want to see what’s different, and what’s stayed the same. Maybe sometime you’ll find a favorite bench in the garden, or a tree by the lakeside and someone will ask, ‘Have you seen Jaskier?’ and I can say, ‘He’s sitting in _his_ spot,’ reading or composing, dozing in the sun. I wonder where you’ll leave your mark.”

Jaskier turned to face him and rested a hand on his husband’s chest. “I already have my spot here,” he said as he met his eyes. “Right here, in your arms, and in your heart, I doubt I’ll ever find a place I love more than being there,” he said before kissing him again.

One of Geralt’s hands rose and cradled Jaskier’s cheek. He leaned their foreheads together when they parted, not wanting to move away—not the slightest inch. “When did I last tell you I love you?” he asked. The wedding already seemed like it belonged to some other eternity. Here, it was quiet, so far away.

“The words? Or when was the last time you reminded me of it?” he asked with a sweet chuckle. “Every moment with you like this feels like you’re saying it. You make me feel adored. Loved beyond compare.”

“Then I’m doing my job right. But let me remind you anyway: I love you. I adore you. And since it’s been about five seconds, you’re overdue for another reminder,” he teased. “I love you,” he repeated, placing a kiss to Jaskier’s ear. “Love you.” He kissed him again in the corner of his eye. “Love you,” he whispered, placing another kiss to his cheek.

Jaskier chuckled softly at the affection before holding Geralt’s face in his hands and meeting his eyes. “I love you too,” he hummed before kissing him fully once again.

Geralt closed his eyes, taking in everything about the moment: the feel of Jaskier’s lips against his, the warmth of his skin, the feel of the suit beneath his fingers, so soft and smooth. He chuckled then, stroking a hand over the material. “I almost don’t want to take these off of you,” he said. “You look so nice. Feels nice too.”

“I wasn’t too sure of it at first,” he admitted with a blush growing on his cheeks. “It’s very plain compared to, well, everything else I wear,” he teased as he stepped away from the window.

Geralt stayed back to admire the view. “I don’t think so. The lace is nice, and something about it makes … it makes the _you_ of you stand out. That’s the best way I can describe it.”

“I think it just captures attention the right way, like a simple but perfectly executed song,” he said softly as he moved to sit on their bed.

Geralt knelt at his feet, crossing his arms over Jaskier’s knees to stare up at him, head rested and tilted to the side against his arms. “I think that describes you well,” he said.

Jaskier smiled back at him and ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re very sweet,” he hummed softly.

Geralt closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. After a few minutes of silence, just enjoying the company, he began to hum. It was not his usual hum: not some wordless answer or noise of contentment. It had a rhythm to it.

After a moment of listening, Jaskier realized it was a song.

Jaskier listened closely to him, searching for a familiar tune in the melody. He didn’t dare interrupt, he just dutifully ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair.

Then, very quietly, Geralt began to sing. Shyly at first, so that Jaskier could barely hear, but he grew confident on the second verse before humming quietly once more.

_“A sweet bouquet of meadow-gay_

_He’s waiting in the bowers_

_And I will stay this wedding day_

_And all my living hours”_

Jaskier felt a blush rise to his cheeks as he listened to Geralt. He had grown used to that well-worn sound of his voice, but hearing him sing was something else entirely. He kissed his forehead gently when he stopped. “Your voice is beautiful, love.”

Geralt smiled up at him before nudging his face back down into his arms. His voice came back muffled. “I missed your singing. Thought I might try some myself…”

He chuckled fondly. “I hope you’ll try some more, you sound lovely,” he insisted as he made him meet his eyes.

Geralt’s cheeks were flushed as he looked back. “I don’t sing much,” he admitted. “Not even drinking songs. The last time, I think I was still a boy. But it’s a special day and it made me think of the song. I wanted to do something special for you.”

“I loved it,” he said warmly before kissing his forehead again. “Now, why don’t you join me here? As much as I love you on your knees, I want to kiss you properly.”

“Hey, I worked hard on that; don’t spoil the moment,” Geralt nagged, laughing as he crawled onto the bed. He kicked off his boots and lay back against the pillows, grinning.

“It was very sweet, but I want to kiss my husband,” he teased as he straddled his waist and leaned over to kiss him fully.

A small noise escaped the back of Geralt’s throat. That word and the eagerness with which Jaskier climbed over him was more than enough to remind him of their short scene in the hall. He was ready and willing to start it up again and he brought his hands forward to rest on Jaskier’s thighs.

Jaskier pulled away after a moment and ran his hands along Geralt’s chest gently. “You look incredible,” he hummed as he took a moment to truly look him over.

“Thought I’d dress up for you,” Geralt said in a vain attempt to sound casual. His voice was already trembling with his unsteady breath. It had been far too long and every little thing set him off. But nothing more than that look in Jaskier’s eyes.

“It seems to be the only reason you will dress up,” he chuckled as he started to open his doublet. “It’s nice to know all of this is just for me.”

Geralt leaned his head back into the pillows and chuckled. “I thought we weren’t opening our presents until tomorrow,” he teased, gripping Jaskier’s thighs tighter as those fingers brushed against his chest.

“I never agreed to that,” he teased back before running his hand along his chest. “I’m far too impatient to wait that long.”

“I could tell. I was beginning to wonder if you might just lift me up onto the banquet table and have me in the middle of the wedding feast. Your appetite is insatiable.”

“That’s hardly my fault. You spoiled me in Novigrad and we’ve hardly had more than a day together since I arrived. I’m starved,” he chuckled before starting to kiss along his neck.

Geralt turned his head to the side, heart picking up. His hands crawled higher, fisting in the fine material of Jaskier’s doublet. “Wild thing,” he mumbled.

He nipped his neck. “Gentle with that,” he warned lazily as he ran his thumb over his nipple.

Geralt gasped and held even tighter. “Fuck,” he choked. “I’ve wanted you like this for _days._ ” Longer, honestly, but the scene in the bath was particularly present on his mind. Jaskier looked _good_ , predatory and commanding. Geralt had never had much opportunity to be on the receiving end, much as he’d like to be.

“I know sweetheart, I can tell,” he purred lazily before sitting up and taking him in again. “Gods I love that you wear that ribbon for me, it makes you look like you’re mine.”

“I _am_ yours,” Geralt replied. He flashed his rings at Jaskier as he stroked the ribbon in his hair. “I like that I’m twice as marked as you,” he added. He had both the rings and the ribbon. But he wanted even more.

“Anyone can wear a ring for their lover,” he pointed out as he started to undo the buttons of his own doublet.

That was when Geralt remembered what lay beneath. He’d forgotten about the signet ring he’d given Jaskier, too caught up in the bliss of having him. He reached forward, catching a glimpse of the cord around his neck. “I guess we’re equally marked after all,” he said.

“I like having a piece of you close to my heart,” he hummed as he continued to fiddle with the buttons. That was when Geralt noticed the lace that was tied behind his neck and ran down the sides of his chest.

Geralt struggled upright on his elbows, leaning for a better look. “You weren’t teasing,” he said, sounding surprised. He slipped a hand under Jaskier’s doublet to run it over the delicate lace with hungry admiration. “I wish I’d been so thoughtful.”

“Of course I wasn’t teasing, I picked the lace out myself. I figured it would look perfect like this,” he teased as he let the doublet slide off his shoulders and pool around him.

Geralt ran a finger under the tight bonds, testing them. They were for show, restricting nothing but his own breathing to see Jaskier done up so well. “You do. Reminds me of when I had you tied up before—only much prettier. This is one present I’d prefer to leave wrapped.” Though as he looked, the lace dipped down into his trousers. Geralt desperately wanted to know just how far down the lace went.

“Well, to be fair you could still finish unwrapping me. Seeing as I did the hard part,” he teased as he let the doublet fall away, and returned his hands to his chest.

Geralt shook his head and lay back. “No,” he said, smiling up at him. He lay his arms back on the pillow and rested his head against them. “This was your idea; you’ve been the one in charge tonight. So _take_ charge.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that and moved off of the bed for a moment to finish undressing. “And I thought I was demanding,” he teased as he untied his trousers and let them fall away. The lace ended in a bow, halfway down his thigh on one side, while the other wrapped around a garter to keep it in place.

He turned back to look at him for a moment before speaking up again. “Stand up for me darling, you’re far too dressed, and I don’t see much of a point in making a show of it tonight.”

Geralt hadn’t even heard him. He was too busy drinking in the sight before him. He had the urge to fall to his knees and kiss Jaskier’s thigh, just beneath the garter. Gods on high, he was hard from the sight of it alone. He licked his lips, imagining.

“Darling,” Jaskier said firmly, letting his voice gain a bit of an edge to it. “If you want me to _take charge_ I expect you to listen.” He met his eyes while he spoke and raised a brow expectantly.

Geralt sat upright, blood rushing through him at the sound of that voice. “What did you say?” he asked.

“Stand up and undress for me,” he reiterated as he watched him. His eyes only stayed on him for a moment before he wandered over to the chair nearby and took a seat to better enjoy the view.

Geralt was up at once, hurrying to comply. He picked both doublets up off the bed and tossed them to the side, not wanting them to be ruined with what was to come. He undid the laces up the front of his trousers and let them and his smalls down in one motion, kicking the material off to the side. He left the ribbon in his hair. It wouldn’t be in the way.

“I’ll never get tired of looking at you,” Jaskier purred as he looked him over. “I’d love to just watch you like this, maybe I should commission a mirror for us,” he mused as he crossed his legs.

Geralt frowned, confused. “A mirror?” He looked toward his wardrobe where he had a perfectly fine mirror. What did he mean?

“So I can watch us,” Jaskier said before licking his lips. “I’d love to know exactly what you look like when you fuck me as hard as I like,” he purred.

Geralt felt a shiver run down his spine, though the idea was a bit funny. It came across almost narcissistic; he expected Jaskier to want to catch a look at _himself._ “I’d just like _you_ to fuck _me,_ whether I can see it or not.”

“Get on your knees for me,” he ordered lazily, spreading his legs again while he spoke. He didn’t bother responding to his comment.

This time, Geralt didn’t need to be told twice. He took to his knees and inched forward to kneel in front of Jaskier, hands resting on Jaskier’s thighs. He edged one finger underneath the garter, revisiting his earlier fantasy.

“Darling, did I tell you to touch?” he hummed as he met his eyes and tangled a hand in his hair.

Geralt stopped, hand still poised in place. He looked up at Jaskier, incredulous. “Then what am I doing on my knees?” he demanded. Just what game was he playing? Feeling very put out, he pulled his hands away, sitting on his haunches.

"I would have told you if you were patient," he teased with a smirk. "But for now I think I'm just going to let you look, think about what you want."

Geralt already knew what he wanted. Instead, he sat back, thinking Jaskier was being horribly unfair. He was following through on an _implied_ order. So he sat, arms crossed over his chest, pouting. Jaskier had wanted to see him pouting before—now he could _have_ it. “Tease,” he grumbled.

“You love it,” he purred before tugging his hair gently. “And now you can touch, just leave the ties alone.”

“Hmm.”

True as that may be, he liked it best when it was fair. He was quick enough to forgive Jaskier now that he was allowed to see his desire through. He resumed his place, carefully avoiding the laces. “How do you feel about the garter?” he asked, tapping his finger on the outside of Jaskier’s thigh, chin resting just before it.

“You can take it off,” he hummed lazily before slowly starting to stroke himself.

Geralt was about to take the garment between his teeth—a tradition he’d once read about from another country—when he saw the movement out of the corner of his eye. He paused, taking a deep breath as he watched. His mouth suddenly felt very dry.

"Well?" he hummed expectantly, not pausing his movements for a moment while he watched him. He showed no signs of shyness, just unending interest in his partner.

Geralt looked up a moment, then turned his attention back to the task at hand. It had sounded like an invitation, but he wasn’t sure. Jaskier had said to be patient.

Taking the garter between his teeth, Geralt pulled it down Jaskier’s thigh. He lifted Jaskier’s leg to slip it off and toss it aside. Then, an inch at a time, he kissed his way back up from Jaskier’s ankle, hands stroking gently as he went.

Jaskier relaxed at his touch and tangled a hand in his hair as he moved up his thigh. “Darling, are you trying to tease?” he hummed lazily before moving his hand from his cock. “Because I can give you something much more interesting to do.”

Geralt panted against Jaskier’s leg the moment he felt his hand slip over him. “Not teasing. Just appreciating,” he said. He pulled away and opened his eyes. He looked between Jaskier and his erection. “Can I?” he asked, inching closer.

“You may,” he purred lazily before gently pulling at his hair. “As long as you don’t forget to listen while you do.”

Geralt closed his eyes and leaned into the touch momentarily. “I’m listening,” he assured.

“Go ahead then darling, indulge yourself,” he purred as he watched him.

Geralt braced a hand on Jaskier’s thigh, the other firmly at his hip. He looked once more at Jaskier long enough to say, “Promise I’m not teasing,” before going in to lap his tongue on the underside.

Jaskier gasped softly and tangled his hand further in his hair. “I know darling … you want to be good for me,” he said breathlessly.

“I do. It’s what you deserve.”

Geralt flicked his tongue over the head, lapping up the first drop of precum. He remembered their first encounter together and smiled. Would tonight be another long, slow night? He wanted to lavish Jaskier with attention, now more than ever. He wanted to _be_ the focus of his attention. But Jaskier needed a little waking up first.

Geralt took a deep breath and swallowed Jaskier down as far as he could without preparation. He gagged slightly as the tip hit the back of his throat.

He curled forwards slightly and tangled both of his hands in his hair with a breathy little moan. “Fuck—I love that mouth, it’s like you were made for me,” he praised as he tugged his hair a bit.

Geralt pulled up enough to breathe, indulging in the glow of Jaskier’s praise. He rested a moment, then went down again, working his tongue for more pressure, moving slowly. He could feel the twitch of Jaskier’s hips. He closed his eyes and he sucked him off, listening to the noise, letting himself get lost in the sensation. Jaskier was salty with sweat, slightly bitter, and his natural musk rose up against the scent of his bath oils. There was much to appreciate.

Jaskier wasn’t shy with the sounds Geralt drew from him, he let him hear every whine and whimper that escaped him, and couldn’t help running his mouth. “Fuck, love, you’re doing so well, I’m almost tempted to finish like this—fuck, maybe I should, I’ll just let you suck me off like this, let you get your reward for being patient before—” he cut himself off with a moan and thrust his hips forwards slightly. “Before I fuck you,” he finished breathlessly.

Geralt moaned shamelessly at his words. Gods above, Jaskier could probably talk him off if he tried. He pulled off a moment, panting. There were tears in the corner of his eyes from the strain. When he spoke, his voice was low and gravelly.

“Do it,” he pleaded. He gripped Jaskier’s thigh, kneading it in his hand. “I can wait all night. As many times as you want.” His face was flushed from effort, his forehead damp with sweat. He gazed up at Jaskier with dark, hooded eyes.

“Fuck, look at you,” he said breathlessly before wiping his eyes with his thumb. “So eager to please me, so good at it too,” he praised as he watched him. “Say please, darling. Then I’m all yours,” he purred.

Geralt tilted his head back, breathing hard. He let out a low whine as the loving words lit his body aflame. “Please,” he begged.

“Good,” he hummed before leaning back and spreading his legs a bit further. “Go on then darling.”

Geralt smiled wide. He took either of Jaskier’s hips now to keep steady. This time, he lowered his lips slowly over Jaskier’s cock, taking him a little at a time until he sank to the base, throat flexing with the obtrusion. He sat there for one breathless instant, then pulled up halfway. He gave Jaskier’s hips and encouraging tug.

Jaskier rocked his hips forwards slowly, keeping an eye on him as he slowly started to thrust into his mouth. “Fuck, you’re more eager for it than I am,” he teased breathlessly.

If he weren’t already thoroughly red, Geralt would have blushed at the truth of those words. He made a small noise, choked off by the next thrust. He closed his eyes, trying to meet Jaskier’s pace, doing his best to catch his breath. Somewhere along the way, his hands had drifted down to the sides of the chair and he held on, leaving Jaskier free to direct himself.

Jaskier started slow, giving him time to adjust before slowing quickening his pace. “Gods that blush; I love seeing you shy, it looks good on you,” he purred as he pulled him back by his hair a bit before he thrust back in.

Geralt opened his eyes, startled, before closing them tight again and moaning. His skin tingled with the praise. He was achingly hard, but he barely felt it, so focused he was on his task.

“Fuck you’re so good for me,” he whimpered softy, his voice pitching higher as he felt himself get closer. “Letting me fuck your face like this—fuck you’re so good.”

Now Geralt _did_ pay attention to himself. The ache was too strong to ignore. He let go of the chair with one hand, quickly grabbing it once more when he felt it shift. Though he was desperate, he was not about to let Jaskier fall. He was panting hard, taking Jaskier far down, and it was hard to catch his breath as Jaskier began to fall over the edge, but he held him steady and took him down. There was a bitterness on the back of his tongue and he knew Jaskier was close. The thought alone made something warm and wet dribble from the head of his cock and he whined with need.

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat and he held him close as he fucked into his mouth with short little thrusts before finally reaching his end. He cried out his husband’s name as he came and held him still as he slowly got his bearings.

Geralt choked as he swallowed down Jaskier’s spend. He felt Jaskier’s cock grew soft in his mouth but Jaskier held him in place still. He waited a moment for Jaskier to climb down before tapping his hands and attempting to pull away for a true, full breath.

Jaskier let him go and sat back down to catch his breath. “You’re so good,” he said breathlessly. “So good for me.”

Geralt relaxed and pressed his forehead to the inside of Jaskier’s thigh, chest heaving as he took several deep breaths. His hands hung limp at his sides. When he no longer felt light-headed, he turned enough to smile up at him. He wrapped his hands around Jaskier’s calf to support himself. His voice was worse than before, hoarse and deep.

“Good?” he asked, just to hear it said once more.

“So good, wonderful,” he insisted as he pushed the hair from his eyes. “Now it’s my turn, darling,” he purred gently as he caught his breath.

Geralt massaged the back of Jaskier’s leg. “Turn for what?” he asked, mind in a pleasant haze.

“To make you see stars,” he purred as he ran his fingers through his hair. “One night I will just have you please me without a reward, but I want nothing more than to take you apart tonight.”

Geralt licked his lips. “Words are enough,” he managed to say. He pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s skin, then released a shuddering breath. He was too worked up to argue either way. He wanted to lavish Jaskier with attention—he wanted to be the object of his devotion as well. Being taken apart by Jaskier’s hands sounded incredible. Would he really see stars?

“You’re adorable,” he teased before pressing his fingers in between his lips with a smirk. “Suck for me, darling,” he purred.

Once more, Geralt obediently tilted his head back. He let Jaskier slip his fingers through his lips and began the lathe them with his tongue. He’d take whatever Jaskier gave him, as long as he kept calling him such sweet things, making his heart flutter in his chest.

Jaskier pulled his fingers away after a moment. It gave him enough time to get his bearings, and collect himself enough to maintain his composure. He gently pushed Geralt back so he could stand. “Love, why don’t you go lay down for me?” he hummed gently, strain still clear in his voice.

“On the floor, or …?” Geralt looked toward the bed.

“On the bed,” he said gently before running a hand through his hair as he walked past and sat on the bed, waiting for him.

Geralt stood and made his way to his side. He slunk down over Jaskier, wrapping him in his arms with a sigh for a moment. Then he let go and rolled onto the middle of the bed comfortably, gazing up at him. “Is this fine?” he asked.

“It is for now,” he hummed before kissing his cheek. “If you still want me, we have to get you ready, but I want you thinking before we do that,” he said gently.

“I want you,” Geralt said, a little too quickly. He averted his eyes and his ears tinted pink once more. He fidgeted, rubbing the coverlet between his fingers. “ … What did you want me to think about?” he asked.

“I just want you back in your head before we start that,” he said gently, before kissing his cheek.

“I haven’t been fucked senseless yet. I’m right here,” Geralt protested. He rested a hand on Jaskier’s arm, wanting him closer. “But you’re in charge, I suppose. What shall we think about?”

“I know, I’m just not used to you like this, I want to take it slow,” he said gently.

“I’m not used to _being_ like this, but I’m excited that it’s with you. I don’t mind it being slow. Actually, I think that’s the best way to do it the first time.”

“I like it darling,” he assured him. “It’s refreshing, and you look settled.”

“You’re very good at getting me riled up,” Geralt said. He reached up and pulled Jaskier into his arms, smiling against his cheek. “You you’re also good at calming me down. I feel easy around you. Eskel wonders how I get so talkative, if you’ve noticed. I don’t have to rehearse what I say or think with you.”

“I’m glad you can feel like that around me,” he hummed before kissing his cheek gently. “How do you feel about this? How I am when I’m in control, it’s not too much, right?”

Geralt raised a brow and smirked. “I’d say it’s almost not enough,” he replied. “That was fun before: you fucking my mouth. I like how wild you got toward the end. I think I’d like to do it again, watch you turn into an animal.”

He chuckled softly. “You like breaking down my self-control?” he teased lazily before pulling at his hair.

Geralt closed his eyes. “I like being the one _not_ in control sometimes; despite my objections I like what you were doing at dinner. I just didn’t want people saying things about you if they saw.” He ran his hands down Jaskier’s sides, trying to draw him closer. “I like that I had to sit there, helpless, your hands teasing. And I like that you lose it too. You're so composed.”

He chuckled fondly and kissed along his neck. “Most people would think the opposite about us, mister cool and composed under pressure.”

Geralt turned his head and fingered through Jaskier’s hair. His breath hitched before he continued. “Different kind of pressure. It’s easy to be calm in a fight when you know your enemy is trying to kill you. You don’t have to be polite about a brawl. There are a hundred unspoken rules in court to observe before you even get a chance to talk, and talking isn’t my strong suit. That’s where you shine.”

He chuckled softly at that and nipped at his neck gently. “I’ll teach you composure,” he teased before sitting up a bit and running his hands along his chest.

Geralt stared up at him, eyes turning dark. “What do you mean to do?” he asked.

“That’s for another night, but I’ll show you control, like before,” he purred back.

“Oh?” Geralt worried his bottom lip. The blood began to run through him again at the change in Jaskier’s voice. Oh yes, he did like this.

“Ready to keep going?” he hummed.

Geralt nodded, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders. “Please,” he answered.

“Lay still for me,” he hummed as he moved off of him.

Geralt took only a moment to adjust the pillow behind his head before he happily complied. He watched Jaskier with anticipation.

Jaskier took some oil from a cupboard and moved back between his legs. “Relax for me darling.”

Geralt did his best. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He let his limbs rest gently on the bed, loose, but he was excited. When it had been the other way around, Jaskier had made it very clear just how much he’d enjoyed it, and now he had the opportunity to have his own turn. Waiting was just making it more difficult.

He kissed up his thigh and spread some oil on his fingers while he had him distracted. He gently pressed a finger into him.

Geralt grunted quietly. That felt a bit … weird. Not really good or bad, just abnormal. He fidgeted a little to get comfortable again, trying to get used to the strange sensation.

“Relax love, relax,” he said gently as he slowly thrusted his finger in again. “You’re being so good for me.”

“Hm.” Geralt put his head back down on the pillow and lay still. “Tried it once. Couldn’t get it,” he said. It wasn’t much of an explanation.

Jaskier curled his finger slightly, searching for the place in him that would have him gasping.

“I thought that maybe it was ju—ah!” Suddenly, Geralt arched upward and grabbed at the sheets. “Oh fuck,” he gasped. “Oh fuck, what was that!”

Jaskier hummed gently, pride clear in his tone. “That’s what makes all of this worth it,” he teased before pressing in another finger.

“Do it again,” Geralt pleaded. He tried to push forward, drive Jaskier’s fingers deeper.

“Beg,” he purred as he stilled his fingers.

“Jaskier?” Geralt whined, feeling him stop. He opened his eyes and looked down. “Please. Please do it,” he gasped.

“Come on love, you can do better,” he purred lazily as he pulled his fingers back a bit.

Geralt scrambled for the right words. Perhaps what he lacked in eloquence could be made up for in enthusiasm. “Please stroke me,” he begged. “I want to know what it feels like. I—I want to be undone by your hand. I want you inside of me in whatever way you’re willing to give. I want to be left _desperate._ Please, I’ve waited long enough to do it. I’ve always wanted to know.”

Jaskier leaned forwards and kissed him gently as he curled his fingers again and started to work him open.

Geralt closed his eyes and moaned. He spread his legs further apart. As Jaskier worked, he did his best to keep still, fighting the urge to fuck himself on Jaskier’s fingers and chase that spark of heat when he rubbed just right.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered, kissing along Jaskier’s jaw. “It’s really happening, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Jaskier said warmly as he pressed in a third finger. “Let me take care of you, be good for me.” He loved seeing his lover like this, relaxed and desperate. So sweet for him with hardly a care past this moment.

“Yes. Yes, please,” Geralt gasped. He rested back, his arms at his side. He was babbling, he knew. He never babbled. “You’re incredible. Gods help me, I’m never going to be able to watch you play the lute again without thinking of this. Those fingers of yours—how many?”

“Three now,” he hummed back before kissing along his neck. “You’re doing so well for me,” he said warmly. “So perfect, you’re so perfect. I’m taking them out now, just relax,” Jaskier hummed as he grabbed the oil again.

Geralt flushed with praise. When Jaskier removed his fingers, he bit his lip, doing his best not to whine at their absence. He knew that if he was patient, he’d get what he truly wanted very soon. “Please hurry,” he said.

“I will, just wait another moment,” he said gently as he slicked himself and moved back in place. He kissed Geralt gently before slowly thrusting in.

Geralt made a strangled kind of noise and his eyes opened wide. He paused just to blink up at the bed’s draperies and breathe. “You … you recovered quickly,” he whispered, feeling the girth of Jaskier’s renewed erection.

“With the way you were reacting is was hard not to,” he said breathlessly as he steadied himself over him.

“Feels bigger that I expected. Different this way.” He was starting to squirm again as he adjusted to the obtrusion. He lifted one leg up and wrapped it around Jaskier’s hip. He bucked up. It was a bit of a stretch and he needed Jaskier to move.

“Imagine what you feel like in me then,” he teased before stroking his cock as he slowly pulled out and thrust back in.

Geralt gasped and threw his head back. That had been neglected far too long. “H-harder,” Geralt said, his heel digging into Jaskier’s hip. He reached both hands up to grab his shoulders, needing something to hang onto.

Jaskier let him hold on and he slowly sped up his thrusts, although he kept his hand slow. “You’re taking me so well,” he purred.

Geralt shook his head, unable to reply. He closed his eyes. Slowly, his breathing turned to mindless panting. He squeezed Jaskier’s shoulder, trying to angle his hips to get Jaskier where he wanted him. He needed to feel that electric brush.

Jaskier sat up a bit more and grabbed his hip to steady him as he changed his angle to press up against that place he’d found earlier.

Geralt shouted, the previous wear in his voice coming through in his broken cry. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s neck, pulling him down closer. “Fuck! Oh, fuck, Jaskier. Please. Again, faster!”

Jaskier kissed along his neck and obliged him, he was starting to lose his pace anyways at this point, Geralt’s gasps and cries had started to get to him.

Geralt covered his face in his hands as more and more sounds and meaningless words began to pour from his lips. His chest heaved, his hips twitching as Jaskier began to fuck him in earnest. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t do anything but chase after each sensation. It was almost too much, Jaskier stroking him in time to his thrusts, kissing and tonguing at his skin. And yet he was still greedy for more.

Jaskier let go of his hips and gently pushed Geralt’s arms out of the way. “I just want to be able to see you, that’s all,” he said gently as he continued to fuck into him ruthlessly.

Geralt arched higher and laced their fingers together. “Hold me,” he begged. “Oh fuck, Julian my love—hold me down, please.” It was the last coherent thing he could manage as he twitched and felt his climax build.

 _Julian_ caught his hands in his and twined their fingers together as he pressed them back into the sheets. His thrusts were starting to stutter now and desperation grew with every quick movement. He could hardly hold on.

“I—” Geralt panted, unable to finish. His legs were shaking and he felt the coil in his core tighten. His muscles clenched and the next instant, he came, spurting down onto his own chest, wetting Jaskier in the process with a deep shout. He went limp, his leg falling from Jaskier’s hip with a heavy thud against the coverlet. He lay slick with sweat as Jaskier rode him through his orgasm. Geralt spasmed, making more strangled noises of pleasure.

Jaskier was close behind him and came soon after. He took a moment to catch his breath before he laid on Geralt’s chest, still buried in him.

Geralt lifted shaking arms up to wrap them around Jaskier. "That ... 's good," he managed.

“Mhm,” he mumbled softly as he rested his head on his chest.

As Geralt started to climb down, he winced. Though flaccid, Jaskier’s spent cock was still a stretch. He tapped his shoulder, grunting.

He slowly pulled out and flopped beside him with a content hum. “How was it?” he asked gently as they relaxed.

Geralt sighed with relief and rolled over, his head to Jaskier’s chest. “Perfect,” he mumbled with a scratchy voice.

He ran his fingers through his hair gently and kissed the top of his head. “How do you feel?” he asked again.

Geralt hummed. “Tired,” he said. With a chuckle he added, “Well fucked.”

Jaskier chuckled softly at that. “Why don’t we get some rest then?” he hummed.

Geralt nodded, nestling closer. He was ready to fall asleep right then in the delicious afterglow, in the arms of his husband.

Jaskier ran his hands through his hair and let him rest. He couldn’t find sleep yet, the excitement of the day still lingered in him too much to allow it, but laying like this was enough.

After a moment, Geralt stirred. “Your heart’s still beating fast; it’s keeping me awake. What are you thinking about?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Everything,” he said gently. “This whole night was out of a dream, one I thought was a nightmare for years—I just want to linger in it for a bit.”

Geralt opened his eyes, the blissful smile faltering a moment. He knew what Jaskier would have expected: a reluctant groom who would have left his bed cold, who would not have looked him in the eye at the ceremony. The guilt still ate at him.

“I want to marry you again when we go out in the world: on our own terms,” he whispered. He wanted to give Jaskier a proper courting, a proposal not dampened by bittersweet revelations. There was so much more he wanted to do.

“And we will, but tonight was nice too,” he said gently, before kissing his forehead. “Really nice, I’m glad our families were here.”

Geralt settled once more, his hand against Jaskier’s chest. “I’m happy that’s how you feel,” he said quietly.

Jaskier ran his fingers through his hair gently. "You know I don't blame you for leaving, right?" he asked gently.

He stiffened. Was he so easily read?

“Don’t you?”

"I know none of it is as black and white as I once wished it to be. It's more my parent's fault than anyone's—we weren't ready then. None of it should have happened the way it did," he said gently.

“None of it,” Geralt agreed. “And some of it shouldn’t have happened at all.” He looked up at Jaskier, raising his hand to press to his cheek. “I was a coward. If I’d stayed, I would’ve been over it in only a little time. Maybe I’d sulk at the wedding, be unenthusiastic, and maybe there would be other gossip about my reluctance, but you wouldn’t have been alone. And the impact would have been lesser. I can’t help thinking that. _You_ were ready.”

“I pretended to be,” he admitted gently. “I had never seen the world past Lettenhove and Oxenfurt, I’d never dated anyone—I hardly even thought about it. I was to be married off and that was all. I was ready to accept that, but I wasn’t ready to be married. It was good for me in a way. I got to go off on my own, learn my own heart a bit. It was good.”

“What?” Geralt sat upright on his hands, suddenly wide awake as he gaped down at Jaskier. “But I thought—! When all the arrangements were being made, they made you sound so … I don’t know. Prepared. And the way you flirted when we met, I would’ve expected you’d had hundreds of conquests. I’ve only ever slept with three people. Here I thought I had a lot of catching up to do to keep things up to standard for you.”

“I’m a bard and a politician Geralt! I’m good with words—shut up!” he huffed before shoving him a bit. He was blushing horribly at that point. “I was only with one or two people before you—one of them ended poorly and the other was only for a night.”

“My first was only for a weekend. The second, I _wish_ had only been for a weekend when it was over; I guess we’re evenly matched. It hurt like hell when she wouldn’t stay. Still, not as bad as when I had to leave you in Novigrad. Breaking off with you was the hardest one.”

“I miss Novigrad most days,” he admitted as he settled back down again. “It was so honest then, everything I mean.”

Geralt looked toward the window. “That reminds me of something. I brought a piece of Novigrad back with me: a wedding present,” he explained. He had an amused sort of grin on his lips. “I think it’s actually very fitting. Before, I brought it as a reminder of you. It was a wedding present of spite, the meaning of which I never meant to reveal. But you were you, as it turned out.”

“What is it?” he asked with a little smile. “And I can’t believe you would ever do something like that, gifting your husband a reminder of your last lover, it’s not like you.”

“Maybe it _is_ like me,” Geralt argued, sinking down to wrap his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders. “After all, we haven’t known each other for very long. I was angry and hurt, and I knew the wedding present was something they’d be expecting. I didn’t want to give a stranger one of my parents’ swords, so I knew I needed another gift.”

“I’ve never seen you be sneaky like that,” he corrected before flipping them so Geralt was on his back and he could curl up on his chest. “You still haven’t told me what it is.”

“If you’d seen me sneaking, it wouldn’t be very sneaky would it? I snuck around for three years, after all: I’m very good at it.” Geralt chuckled. He thumbed affectionately at Jaskier’s shoulder. “Do you remember that story I told you about the pear orchard? The one about the sailor and the elf prince?”

“Of course I do, it was the best fruit I’ve ever tasted, and our first real date,” he teased gently as he settled against him.

“Do you remember that I told you there was another version where the prince was a princess and the trees were a wedding gift? I like to think the true story is somewhere between the two: the sailor married the elf prince. I imagine they’d fallen in love after the sailor rescued him from drowning, that they spent their time together by the sea. I thought of that story and about you. I would have liked to stay there by the sea like we’d talked about.”

Geralt smiled at him. “I brought home a pear tree from that orchard,” he said. “I would’ve told my husband the story and made up some nonsense about growing into love one day, but it was for you. I hoped maybe you might see it if you ever came to visit, and that you would know that I meant what I told you before we parted. I was going to wait for you as long as it took.”

Jaskier kissed him as soon as he finished speaking. “You’re a hopeless romantic, it’s perfect,” he said warmly, smiling back at him. “My gift might be … a little different,” he admitted with a chuckle. “I think you’ll love it, but it’s quite funny why I chose the gift I did.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “I thought this ribbon was your gift,” he said, holding the ends up between his fingers.

“No—that was just for you. Not a formal gift, more of a token,” he tried to explain. “Like your crowns.”

“Ah, I see.” Geralt lifted his head to see just where the crowns had fallen. They were on the floor somewhere. He’d find them again in the morning and hang them up to dry properly, preserved for the future. “So what is this funny gift?” he asked.

“A draft horse,” he hummed. “A big black gelding, rather sweet too, and far too slow and easy to track for you to run away with,” he teased.

Geralt covered up a nervous expression very quickly with a weak sort of smile. “Oh. Thank you. I’m sure it’s a lovely horse. Can’t wait to meet it.”

“I’m sorry, still too soon,” he said with a chuckle. “You’ll like him though.”

“Him?” Geralt said, a little brighter. Then he relaxed again. “It wasn’t that: tease me as much as you like—you’re well within your rights. I was worried Roach would be upset with me if I rode another mare.”

“She’s a fickle thing isn’t she?” Jaskier chuckled softly, before blushing again. “Can I tell you something? You have to promise not to laugh.”

“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises,” Geralt teased.

“I was nervous, so I may have gone to visit her and got her blessing before the ceremony,” he mumbled.

There was a tell-tale huff in Jaskier’s hair of Geralt suppressing a laugh. “Can I tell you something too?” Geralt asked, amusement clear in his voice.

“Of course,” he said as he pulled a blanket over them.

“I practiced my wedding vows out loud with Roach in the corral. Lambert caught me and threatened to fetch a local priest to marry us. ‘You love that horse more than your fiancé,’ he’d said. He joked about me leaving you broken hearted to ride off into the sunset on her back. Said he’d have to beat you back with a stick when you went crying to his arms. Another reason I wanted to beat him senseless for stealing you from me tonight.”

“We both know he’d hunt you down and beat the shit out of you if you ran again. And he let me cry into his shirts for too many nights to count on our ride home, and here,” he teased.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter. His voice was low and unamused when he spoke next. “Did he now?” he growled, glaring up at the draperies.

“I thought I was never going to see you again,” he said gently. “I was heartbroken.” He let the other half of his pain go unsaid but it lingered in the air.

Geralt’s jealousy quickly vanished. His embrace was still as tight, but comfortingly so. “And you were coming home to a stranger; the one who brought you all that pain in the first place. You’d be among the court with no allies,” he said, speaking his thoughts aloud for him. “Lambert may be a prick, but he’s a good friend.” And that was what Jaskier had needed.

Jaskier took a soft breath. “I can’t seem to hold onto my thoughts around you, my tongue slips—I,” he sighed softly and just shook his head and settled.

“Jaskier. Look at me,” Geralt pleaded. He slipped his hand beneath Jaskier’s chin, lifting his head back.

He looked up at him with a frown. “I’m sorry darling.”

“No. Please, don’t apologize. I want you to always be able to say what you’re thinking around me.” He smiled at him reassuringly, just as well as he could.

“I don’t want to keep hurting you when I do,” he said softly.

Geralt hesitated. “It’s going to hurt for a while, whether you talk to me or not. I’d rather you talked to me. I don’t want you hiding how you feel.”

He took a soft breath. “I’m still hurt,” he admitted quietly. “Really hurt, but that’s okay.”

“It is if you talk to me.” Geralt tucked Jaskier’s head into his shoulder, pulling him close. “I know this is going to be a longer process for you. I want to help in any way that I can. If you need to rant or yell, I’ll be there to listen. If you want to throw rotten fruit at some courtier’s window, I’ll hold the basket,” he offered. “I’m here for you. Even if it takes longer than you hoped to recover, I’m going to stay and help you through it.”

“I love you,” he mumbled softly as he snuggled against him. “Don’t forget that with all of this, please,” he added gently.

“Impossible. I never _stop_ thinking about the fact, except when I’m busy thinking about how much _I_ love _you,”_ Geralt chuckled.

He smiled up at him at that. “You’re incredible,” he said with a little yawn.

“No more so than you,” Geralt replied. He pulled the blanket up higher and kissed Jaskier’s forehead. “Sleep now. We can talk more when you’re ready.”

“Mhm,” he mumbled in response. “Sleep, then bath, then presents first,” he added as he closed his eyes.

“Of course. I’m sure our guests brought along _very_ generous gifts. You can gave the first one over breakfast,” he promised.

“You make me sound so greedy,” he chuckled softly before yawning again.

“Fine; I’ll pick out the first one for myself. And I’ll be having leftover pudding for breakfast since everyone will be cleared out: nobody around to judge. Maybe I'll have two. I don't mind being a little greedy.”

“I’m having our cake then—no, tarts and croissants. Both. Definitely both,” he hummed lazily before settling in.

Geralt chuckled fondly. “We’ll have them all, but we have to sleep first,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, listening to the gentle sound of Jaskier’s breathing.

He nodded a bit and slowly drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

True to his word, Geralt sat on the floor of the banquet hall, a plate of pudding balanced on his knee as he opened the first of the presents next morning. It was a small thing bundled up in fancy paper. They were dressed comfortably at last and the air of formality had escaped out the open windows in the early morning along with the guests. The servants made themselves scarce, relaxing the way they did after grand events. It was only them in the hall: Geralt, Jaskier, and their three friends.

“It’s obviously a book. Stop picking at the paper and just rip it open!” Lambert fussed.

“It’s nice paper,” Geralt replied gruffly. “It could be used again.” Life on the road had imbedded frugal habits into him, and he wasn’t about to let anything go to waste. It was _expensive_ paper, too, and he couldn’t bring himself to ruin it with hasty unwrapping.

“It is nice paper, but it just makes a really good sound when you rip it,” Jaskier said with a grin as he leaned over to look at the gift.

Geralt looked at him, affronted that he would even _suggest_ taking Lambert’s side. “I’m _not_ ripping it,” he said, continuing to unwrap it the rest of the way. He held the book up and read the title. “Oh, it’s a collection of romantic verses and songs for bards. I think this one’s for you.”

“Maybe, but I think you might like that more,” he said with a chuckle. “I have half of it memorized from my last project in Oxenfurt.”

“Wait, it’s two books; there was another beneath.” Geralt squinted at the title, butchering the pronunciation. “The Kama Sutra. What, is this an elvish book? I don’t speak Elder, do you?” He passed the book to Jaskier and was surprised to hear Eskel laugh across the way, quickly nudged by Vesemir.

“I do, but it’s not elder—I think that one’s for me,” Jaskier said, lunging for it before Geralt could open it.

Geralt looked between the two of them, feeling that there was a joke he’d missed. “Let me see. Is that the author’s name then? What’s it about?”

Lambert strode forward to help Jaskier recover the situation, shoving another present under Geralt’s nose. “Mine next!” he cheered, blocking Geralt’s reach.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said with a chuckle as he set aside the book and moved to sit closer to Geralt as he opened the new gift.

Geralt had only just picked at the plain brown paper when Lambert snatched the present from his hands. “Not for you,” he corrected. “Besides, I’ll need to shave again by the time you’re done unwrapping it.” He put the present in Jaskier’s hands instead. “Open ‘er up, your dukeness.”

Jaskier grinned and tore open the paper without hesitation. “I’ve been dying to know what you got me, you were being so fussy about it earlier.”

“Was not,” Lambert scoffed. “That was _Geralt’s_ thing I was being fussy about. This is from me—and it’s a hundred times better.”

Jaskier unwrapped the present and the shining dagger sat before them all, its silver blade winking in the late morning light.

“Now you can make your own oaths,” Lambert said, tapping his bottom lip.

Jaskier took it with a smile and ran his fingers along the sheath. “It’s perfect Lambert,” he said before pulling the dagger free and flipping it in his hands.

“Are _all_ the presents going to be for Jaskier?” Geralt asked, looking at the large stack piled on the table. “I expected it from the guests, of course, but from the three of you?”

“Don’t be greedy,” Vesemir scolded, teasing.

Geralt huffed. “I’m not being greedy. I only expected three presents, really.” He scooped up a large bite of pudding and shoved it into his mouth. At least he had _that_ for himself.

“If you’re _going_ to make a fuss about it, I guess I’ll give you mine next.” Eskel stepped forward, picking up another package from the table: one quite long and skinny. He dropped it in Geralt’s lap and returned to his seat, looking more than a little smug.

“Thank you, Eskel. Glad to know one of you was thinking of me.”

Eskel chortled. “Don’t flatter yourself; the other one in there’s for Jaskier.”

His package was tied with a ribbon and the paper fell away easily. He’d been with Geralt longer after his homecoming, and he knew of his obnoxious new frugality. He'd planned accordingly.

“Oh, _yes!”_ Geralt cheered. He held up a fine new fishing pole, his eyes shining. “I’ve been _wanting_ one of these for years! I’ve been making do with a cheap line and hook.”

“Don’t you have a fishing pole here at the manor?” Lambert asked.

“It rusted while he was away,” Eskel said. “He left it in the shed the first year—remember those torrents in spring? I had to help clean it out in the end when the wall rotted away from the flooding. He needed a new one.”

“I swear, if you name the new horse after another fish, I’m naming our kid something musical,” Jaskier teased gently. “I can’t believe you’re so excited about a fishing pole,” he chuckled.

Geralt dropped both pole and pudding, suddenly going deep red.

“Uh-oh. You broke him,” Lambert said.

“What? I think having a little Melody or Aria running around would be nice. Or maybe even Brio?” Jaskier said gently, his brows knitting together in thought.

“Brio? Like the cheese?” Lambert whispered to Eskel, who smacked him in reply.

Geralt turned impossibly redder, heart thumping in his chest. He gripped his shirt, trying not to let his imagination run away with him. When? How soon did Jaskier want children? Was he seriously offering they have one so soon? He wanted to leap to his feet and agree at once, leave the presents behind and head to the closest orphan home they could find, not bothering to saddle the horses!

Jaskier snapped in front of him a few times. “Darling, what is it? You’re far away,” he teased before moving into his lap.

Geralt blinked and opened his mouth, trying to speak, producing nothing but a choked attempt. “I—! Fa-fatherhood is …”

Eskel leaned forward to pat Jaskier’s shoulder. “Let me spare him while his brain catches up to his mouth. I suggested it a few minutes before you walked down the aisle yesterday and he almost fainted on the spot. He wants kids.”

“Yes. Yes, I’m—that’s—I was going to wait a year or so,” Geralt floundered. He’d already drafted a few speeches and scenarios for how he’d bring the subject up, and Jaskier had done it so easily, the very morning after their wedding. He couldn’t fathom it.

“I want them too, just not for a little while. We have to grow a lot more before we’re ready for that,” he said gently. “We just got married, I’m hardly a husband, I doubt adding father to the mix so soon is a good idea.”

Geralt nodded, slowly climbing down from his excitement. “Right. Yes, that’s why I was going to wait to talk about it.” He cleared his throat, then looked mournfully at his fallen pudding. “Aw, fuck,” he grumbled. He’d only had half of it.

“We’ll talk about it more when we’re ready,” he assured him before kissing his cheek.

“I don’t mind waiting either. There’s a lot to learn first, and other things to think about,” Geralt agreed. “For instance: was this the last pudding?”

“There’s more in the kitchen,” Vesemir reassured him, shaking his head with a smile.

“Oh—Vesemir which one’s yours? Since we’re doing family gifts first,” Jaskier asked as he walked over to the pile. “My parents’ gifts will be after that, but we might as well finish with the Rivian side first.”

Vesemir stood quickly from his chair and swiped up two presents startlingly fast, shoving them in Jaskier’s direction. “No need. Go right ahead with your parents’ gifts. Mine is … not finished yet,” he said unconvincingly. “I’ve … I’ve commissioned a portrait.” He stood quite deliberately between Jaskier and the table, not allowing him near.

“I swear I saw you put something down earlier,” he insisted as he took the gifts and tried to look past him. “And I didn’t see a painter there last night,” he insisted.

“Of course you did; I was the one who set up the presents. Mine isn’t here.” Vesemir leaned, mirroring Jaskier to prevent him from looking. “You both have had your own portraits done before and he’s using those as references, working from home. Here, take these to Geralt and open one each.”

Geralt was on his feet next, curious. He stood by Jaskier, also trying to look over. “You’re acting suspicious. Why won’t you let us near the table?”

“Might have something to do with that bulky back-breaker beneath the tablecloth,” Lambert said, raising his voice cheekily.

“Eskel help us!” Jaskier called out as he lunged forwards to the table trying to get closer or at least distract Vesemir while someone else got it.

“I’m staying out of this one,” Eskel said, holding his hands up.

Lambert, always one for a bit of fun, leapt to join the struggle. “Run! I’ll hold him!”

Geralt ducked forward as Vesemir cried out a warning, restrained around the middle. He laughed and rounded the other side of the table. There he found something large covered over with a spare tablecloth from the wedding feast.

“Ready, Jaskier?” Geralt teased, grabbing one side of the sheet in hand.

“Geralt, Jaskier!” Vesemir protested. “This isn’t the time for—!”

Jaskier pulled it off before could finish speaking and moved to Geralt’s side as they looked over the beautifully made crib before them. “Oh.”

Vesemir freed himself from Lambert, who looked ready to drop to the floor and convulse with laughter. He smacked his head.

Eskel only sighed.

Geralt ran his hand over the edge of the crib and looked inside. Leaning in the corner was a little wooden hobby horse with twisted red hair. He picked it up, stroking his hand over the face of it. “It’s Roach,” he said, looking at the painted muzzle.

“It’s perfect,” Jaskier said gently as he ran his hands along the carvings on the crib. “This is so sweet,” Jaskier said as he looked back at Vesemir. “Thank you.”

Vesemir cleared his throat. “You can see now why I thought it might be in poor taste,” he mumbled, looking shyly to the side. There was a faint, shocking hint of pink in his complexion.

“It’s still sweet, and it can wait for a few more years.” Jaskier assured him gently, before hugging Vesemir gently. “It means a lot still, and Roach was a nice touch.”

“Well, I’d rather the child started on a fake horse they can’t fall from,” he said, patting Jaskier’s back, unused to the physical affection. “Geralt would probably try to take the child on horseback first thing after they learned to walk, wouldn’t you, Geralt?”

Geralt was still by the crib, silently staring. He likely hadn’t even heard Vesemir speak.

“Well, the new horse will be good for that anyways, slow and sturdy,” Jaskier assured him before walking back to his husband and hugging him around his waist.

Geralt was trembling, the hobby horse still in his hands. He didn’t even acknowledge Jaskier’s return.

“Darling,” Jaskier said softly, as he held him a little tighter.

A quiet sob bubbled up from Geralt’s throat and he brought the horse close to his cheek. Something warm and wet fell onto Jaskier’s hand. Geralt was crying.

“It’s okay, love,” he said gently, resting his head between his shoulder blades.

Geralt shook his head, still not looking away. “It’s _perfect,”_ he corrected. He wiped at his eyes, turning his head away from their small audience of three. “I’m fine. Just …” He sniffed, trying not to let the well in his heart overflow. “I only realized I wanted children _yesterday_. I can wait. It's ridiculous, crying over a little horse and crib. A child wouldn’t even be able to pretend to ride this until they grew big enough, and that’d take years.”

“Darling,” Jaskier said softly. “It’s okay to be overwhelmed by all of this, I am too—it’s incredible, it’s our future staring back at us and I can’t wait to see it all with you.”

Eskel leaned over, close to Vesemir. “I don’t think they’ll be opening any more presents for a while. Should we pack them up?”

“Give them a minute. And for decency’s sake, Lambert, stop snickering.”

“Why don’t we go for a ride?” he offered gently.

At that Geralt finally looked up. “Can’t ride,” he whispered. He flushed red and put the hobby horse back in the crib.

Jaskier stifled a chuckle at that, and kissed between his shoulders. “Let’s visit the stables then? Go for a walk?”

"I'll show you the tree," Geralt said. "I think if I saw Roach I might just start it all up again." He was already choking up at the idea of showing her the hobby horse—the _child_ holding it up for her to sniff. He took Jaskier's hand and hurried them out of the hall, head low.

“Are you alright?” he asked gently as they walked along. Worry was painfully clear in his tone. “I know everything is a lot right now, but it’s all good.”

“Everything’s fine—wonderful, really. I’m just … getting a little ahead of myself.” Leagues ahead. Whole countries ahead. When did he develop this habit of daydreaming? He’d always been such a practical person.

“I think we both are. Why don’t we try and hunt down the rest of that pudding? And I’ll tell you about that book?”

“Book?” Geralt had already forgotten about everything else, all thoughts crowded out by images of little bundles in cribs and chubby baby fists around the neck of the wooden horse.

“You know what, never mind, pudding before anything else,” he chuckled softly.

Geralt shook his head and laughed nervously. “Sorry, I can’t help thinking about it.”

“I know, I can’t wait either. I keep thinking about us chasing them through the halls, or you teaching them to ride, or even just them pulling your hair when you hold them. It’ll be perfect,” he said fondly.

Geralt touched his own hair delicately. “Maybe not that last part,” he replied. “I’ve had children in town pull my hair before when they’d ride my shoulders. It really hurts. One of them did it to steer me like a horse.”

“But imagine a baby Geralt,” Jaskier teased before kissing his cheek. “Chubby cheeks and wide eyes, it’d be cute.”

“I thought we were taking this walk specifically to _avoid_ thinking about children. Unless you’d like to hear everything I’m thinking, in which case, I’d pull up a chair and get comfortable, because I’ve got a lot to talk about and once I start, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

“Honestly I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” he said with a smile as they walked into the gardens.

“Let me preface this by saying we’re far from ready. We’ll be spending a lot of time abroad and it’ll take at _least_ a year, maybe two, to get things stable with the new trade before we’ll have time to even think about settling down quietly. And we’ve got plenty to work out between the two of us before we can add a new addition,” he rambled quickly, fidgeting with his hands.

“I know, I was thinking five years realistically,” Jaskier admitted before taking a seat on a bench near the pear tree. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t think about it.”

Geralt smiled softly. “I see you had no trouble finding your tree,” he said. “And the bench with it. Maybe it _is_ magic, though it's hardly any younger than the third generation.”

“They’re all a little magic,” he hummed before pulling Geralt to sit beside him. “This might become my place here, or maybe under the tree when the grass grows in around it.”

Geralt beamed and pulled Jaskier against his side. He stared out into the garden, letting the scene fall away as his imagination ran free. “She could sit there with you, having a tea party in its shade,” he said wistfully.

“Oh? She?” he chuckled softly, as he leaned against him. “Why do I feel like you’d spoil her endlessly?” he teased gently.

Geralt blushed slightly. He hadn’t been thinking of any kind of child in particular. “Probably because I spoil Roach,” he mumbled. With himself, Jaskier, and a child to spoil her, Roach would have the time of her life.

“And me,” he teased lazily. “I think Roach would do well with a little princess around the manor,” he chuckled. “All decked out with braids and bows.”

“I’ll need to work on my discipline. Starting with you,” he joked. “But picture it: bringing home a new member of the household. A little foundling picked up from the orphan home on our travels. Vesemir wouldn’t show it, but he’s be so happy; within a week, Lambert would refer to him exclusively as ‘Grandpa’ until someone smacked him. Uncle Eskel has a nice ring to it, and he’d try to be as involved as either of us, possibly even try to muscle his way in a little more. Lambert would never be able to argue with it if I taught the child to call him ‘Lambkins.’ He can’t get angry with children, no matter how much he’d like to.”

“My mother would spoil them endlessly, we’d have to build an addition for toys alone. She’s been waiting for grandkids since the marriage was announced.” Jaskier chuckled softly. “My dad too, but he’d never admit it, he’s too proud for emotions.”

“My parents were more stoic than some, but they were loving as well.” Geralt remembered them fondly. “They would have loved to see us have a child. They were so affectionate when I was little. I learned to dance on their feet; I’d like to do that same for her.” He was thinking of the child again, borrowing from his own childhood and the many things his parents had done. “We could hang a swing for her in the garden. You could sing her lullabies and I could tell her stories before bed of all our adventures. If she’s anything like us, she’ll love our story. I have a feeling it’s going to be told in our circles for a long time to come.”

Geralt talked more about learning to fish and ride, to read, to bake, and a hundred little delights that awaited them. He wanted to take their child travelling with them, just as his parents had done for him when he was young. She’d be cultured and adventurous! Vesemir would start training her with a sword quite young; he could picture her running on the upper deck, playing at being a pirate, forcing Geralt and Jaskier to throw up their swords and walk the plank. Maybe she’d go to school in town with the local children—he’d never have the heart to send her away, at least not until she was old enough for a university. She’d become a part of the community, princess of her own little kingdom, beloved by all, just like she’d walked out of the pages of a fairytale, just like Jaskier.

Of course, he was no stranger to the true temperaments of children. They had their struggles as well: fits and fusses, tears both genuine and crocodile, and there would be times when they wouldn’t listen at all and get into all manner of trouble. But he was looking forward to overcoming those things as well, just doing their best.

* * *

Jaskier was up early the morning of their departure, and practically hauled Geralt out of bed and to the stables. Everything had been packed the night before and all that was left to do was ride out of Eskalott.

“Geralt come on love, I know you’re sleepy but I want ride out before sunrise so we can watch as it hits the lake, come on,” he insisted.

Geralt was pulled stumbling to his feet before he could even open his eyes. He mumbled incoherently, still not much of a morning person even after sleeping and waking on a regular schedule, but this was _inhumanly_ early. “Jaskier,” he groaned. “What time is it?” There wasn’t a hint of light coming through the curtains. He was willing to believe he was still in a dream. A loud, cruel, obnoxious dream that was determined to see him up before the sun.

“Early. Get dressed, come on love,” Jaskier said with a chuckle before kissing his cheek. “I want to be out by the stables in ten minutes, otherwise we might miss it,” he insisted as he started to pull on his travel clothes.

Geralt was too tired to think of complaining. Sluggishly, he pulled on the clothes they’d prepared in advance while Jaskier fluttered around the room. “Hmm … bags?” he slurred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“They’re out by the stables already, I made sure of it before we went to bed,” he said as he pulled on his cloak. “We just need to tack Roach and Pegasus then we can ride out.”

Geralt stretched and swayed to his feet. He took a deep breath, now tolerably awake. At least awake enough to remember where the stables were. “It feels like we’re trying to sneak away,” he commented, “getting up so early, slipping out before the crack of dawn.”

“Well, we were supposed to leave later but I want to see the sunrise on the lake,” he teased as he hurried them along and whistled for their horses.

“Sometimes I question just how much I enjoy your romanticism; usually those times come when you force me up out of bed too early because of it.” But Geralt followed him quick enough, also excited to be on their way when he remembered what day it was. He was efficient with Roach’s tack, getting the saddle and all their gear in place. He swung the sword over his shoulder and passed the other to Jaskier, already outfitted with his knife. It looked rather dashing, strapped to his hip. Vesemir had insisted on lessons before their honeymoon, and Jaskier was sufficiently adept in less than a month.

Jaskier was ready with Pegasus as well, and he spurred the gelding onwards without hesitation. “I figured you would get over it,” he teased. “And I figured the best way to start any trip is with one last look at home.”

“It won’t be the last. We’re expected back in three months before they start sending the pack after us,” Geralt said with a hearty laugh. It was a generous amount of time. He followed close behind Jaskier, riding the curving grounds toward the lake.

“So we’ll come back in six months is what you’re saying?” he teased as he drew his horse closer to Roach. “Avoid our responsibilities for a little while longer?”

Geralt winked. “I think the pair of us can play hide and seek for a little while. I’d like to see how your wanted poster looks. We should hang them up together in our bedroom when we return.”

“I should have kept one of yours, so we could compare them,” Jaskier teased before turning to face the lake. “The sun is starting to come up.”

“Vesemir has a few lying around. Lambert has a whole collection he’s vandalized, so Eskel tells me. I’m sure we could always find one somewhere, still hanging around. Probably in Novigrad.”

“We’ll hunt for one when we visit the old house,” he offered. “But Novigrad is far away; we have to get through Lyria first.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing where you grew up. I’m sure your parents will be excited to see you too.”

“They are, and I can’t wait to show you all of it. Although the welcome banquet will be … interesting.”

Geralt gave him a sidelong glance. “Should I be worried?”

“No, well, you may have to take my blades away before then,” he said with a chuckle.

Geralt chuffed and turned Roach in anticipation of the coming view, having approached their vantage point. “Either you mean to kill someone or you’re going to get drunk and try to juggle them. Either way, I suppose I’ll have to be the sober one and prevent a scene. So which is it?”

“Murder, a bloody and painful murder,” Jaskier said with a huff. “Ever heard of a bard named Marx?”

“I’ve _heard_ him. Pretentious yodeling prick,” Geralt snorted. “Can’t play for shit. He’s been the star player at a few festivals and events. I once hit him on the nose with a rotten squash when he laughed at a request for a Rivian ballad. Why?”

“He’s charmed his way into my court, and—and! He called my singing a cry with a hint of a tune to it,” he huffed.

“I’ll hold him down, you aim for the throat,” Geralt growled. “That’s the lowest insult I’ve ever heard hurled in your direction—and I’ve heard plenty since before the wedding.”

“He can’t even hold a tune, or write something original. I’ll tear his throat out with my teeth,” he huffed.

Geralt hummed. “Much as I’d like to see that, I don’t relish the thought of your teeth on another man’s neck."

“To be fair, they’d be _in_ his neck,” he teased. “I’m just a feral bard.”

“Wild thing,” Geralt chuckled. He reached forward to poke Jaskier’s cheek affectionately.

“Only for you,” he teased before nipping at his finger. “Just barely.”

Geralt snorted and turned Jaskier’s head. “The sun’s rising, bard. Pay attention before you miss it.”

“I’m watching, love,” he hummed as he waited for the sun to rise.

As the red light crested over the horizon, Geralt reached his hand down to takes Jaskier’s. He smiled back on his home, taking in the sight. It was a new dawn in every sense: a new dawn on a new life. This time when he went away, he would not be doing so alone. This time, he’d leave nothing behind, and there was only happiness waiting for him upon his return. Today, he could look forward to the adventure and its end equally.

Geralt gave Jaskier’s hand a firm squeeze.

Jaskier kissed his knuckles gently before smiling up at him. “Ready to go?” he asked sweetly, the sun lighting up his grin.

Geralt tilted his head to the side, smiling back with unbridled happiness. “Lead on, Julian,” he said, running his thumb over the rings on his finger. "I’m with you, wherever you choose to go."

He grinned, and squeezed his hand gently before turning Pegasus around towards the road. “Let’s go then. To Lyria,” he hummed as he hurried them onwards.

“To Lyria! And to what promises to be another exciting banquet, I’m sure.”

He laughed at that and rode ahead.

Geralt gave an indignant cry and Roach pulled forward, galloping to catch up. “Don’t leave me behind!” Geralt scolded, laughing in turn.

“We both know Roach is faster—catch up!” he called back as he raced on.

Geralt shook his head and gave Roach’s sides a nudge. In a moment, he was riding ahead of Jaskier, looking back. He pulled a face, turning in the saddle. “Still chasing after me, I see! Think you can catch me yourself this time?”

Jaskier got up out of the saddle and urged Pegasus forwards into a gallop. “C’mon boy, we have a husband to fetch,” he mumbled to his horse as he caught up.

“Too slow!” Geralt teased, pulling another step ahead and steering Roach onto the road. “You’ll need to train that horse of yours to be quicker if you mean to keep up with me for those extra three months, otherwise Vesemir will catch you and I'll have to quit early.”

Jaskier laughed at that. “You’d never let them catch me!” he teased as he chased after Geralt on the road.

“True, but I’d prefer it if they could chase the two of us side by side.” He held his hand out, giving Jaskier a goal to reach. He waved it encouragingly. “Come, while we’ve got a head start!”

“Alright, c’mon Pegasus,” he said as he dug his heels in and raced ahead to take Geralt’s hand and ride beside him. “I love you,” he said as he drew up beside Roach.

Geralt slowed their horses enough to lean over and steal a kiss. “I loved you first,” he replied.

“But I loved you most,” he reminded before pulling him back into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it! The final chapter. But not quite. We'll be adding a short epilogue after the story, so stay tuned for Part 2: The Anniversary Hunt. And quite possibly ... a part 3 ...


End file.
